Baby Come Back
by MaverickLover2
Summary: In no hurry to get to Baton Rouge, Bart Maverick takes shelter from a Louisiana rainstorm in an abandoned cabin. What else joins him in the cabin could change his life forever – or end it. In a place few had ever heard of named Fort St. Rafael.
1. Rain

Chapter 1 – Rain

It was rainy and cold, and the wind was blowing so hard it almost knocked me sideways out of the saddle. That's what finally made me seek some kind of shelter – anything that would keep me dryer and warmer than I was now. Still, it took me a good while to find any protection, and when I finally did it lacked considerable charm. The shack, or what was left of it, wasn't much. Most of it still had a roof and it was better than continuing to be drenched by the torrential rain pouring down. I took shelter where I could find it.

There was enough dry wood inside to start a fire on the side of the shack protected from the weather, and some thirty or forty minutes later I was mostly wet but definitely warmer. My horse stood in the rain and glared at me as if I was the worst human the world had ever known. I felt bad for him, but there was nothing I could do. That's why I was riding him and not the other way around.

The rain continued to fall from the heavens the rest of the day and most of the night, and by morning the landscape didn't look much better than it had yesterday. I was in no hurry to get to the place I was headed for, and I might have been tired of sitting around doing nothing, but wet is wet. I had enough food with me for a couple more days, and I was inclined to outwait Mother Nature, who seemed to be angry about something. So that's just what I decided to do.

Now don't get me wrong. I was bored and miserable that I was sitting in a cold, wet shack on the hard ground instead of being in a nice warm, cozy hotel room. Preferably with a fine cigar and an excellent cup of coffee. And a beautiful woman certainly wouldn't hurt. But I'm practical if nothing else, and what I had was better than the immediate alternative.

So I smoked the cigars I had and drank the coffee I made and napped. Sleeping was always good for killing time, and I did plenty of that the rest of the day. I ate beans and jerky and stale biscuits and played cards, and I did my best to keep myself amused.

Towards mid-afternoon the sky began to clear, and the wind and rain slowed down considerably. My thoughts turned to the possibility that I might not drown if I left my abode of the last two days and went on my way. I almost had myself talked into gathering my meager belongings when the sky transformed itself into a black vortex, and the rain pounded down harder than ever. Five minutes of thunder, lightning, and squalls like I hadn't seen since I was a boy in Texas convinced me to sit back down and practice patience.

My voluntary confinement continued, late through the afternoon and into early evening. With nothing better to do, I finally scrabbled together a makeshift stool from the disintegrating wood on the ground and what was left of the walls. I spent quite a while, maybe even hours, sitting on my handiwork and staring outside, watching a never-ending sheet of water pour down on the ground. Just as I had about abandoned hope of ever seeing clear skies again, something in the weather shifted. There was a softening, a slowing of the downpour.

For the next few minutes the 'drizzle' got my undivided attention. I was about to start gathering my belongings again, halfway believing the weather would know I was ready to venture out and play another trick on me. I had been concentrating so intensely on the sound of the falling raindrops that it took a while for me to hear it, and it almost made me doubt my sanity. Horse's hooves, faint at first, growing louder and steadier until I thought the animal was poised to gallop right through the door.

And when he appeared, almost as if out of nowhere, he was quite an eyeful. Not an overly large horse, still, he was impressive. He was a dappled gray color, with a black mane and tail and one black stocking that reached almost all the way up his right front forearm. He came skidding to an urgent halt at the very edge of my shack, nearly trampling my horse in the process. The gelding snorted and shook his wet mane, and it was only then that I saw the newcomer had a rider. And she was almost as impressive as he was.

Her size fit perfectly with his. Neither large nor small, she sat astride him as if born there. Chestnut brown curls cascaded down her back; she was dressed in a riding skirt of almost the same shade. She was wrapped in something on top that was creamy and appeared to be form-fitting, with a buckskin jacket of a similar color. A light colored hat sat on her head; she wore black riding boots. And she appeared to be bone dry.

Before I could catch my breath she was down off her horse and running towards the shack. In seconds she was inside, standing on the ground almost in front of me, and what an unexpected pleasure. Instantly my day went from being boring to delightful. She took one look at me and the left side of her lips curled up in disdain. It definitely tarnished the stunning face.

I'm not the world's best-looking man, but I'm a whole lot more presentable than most of what else is out there. Attracting a good-looking woman's interest has never been a problem. And even after two days in a wet shack I still looked like a reasonable copy of a gentleman. She took a cautious step away from me and I'm sure my expression changed to one of abject disappointment.

Then something extraordinary happened, and it changed everything. Through the rain that still pummeled the ground outside – the sound of another horse. This one was nowhere near as impressive but much larger. He was a coal black stallion and skidded to the same kind of halt in front of what remained of the shack. His rider dismounted with the precision of a highly disciplined military man, and I caught the glint of a saber. A saber? In Louisiana? Then I paid closer attention to the rest of the rider.

He wore a full uniform, resplendent in a brilliant blue jacket and light gray pants. Gray gloves and a squared off military hat, also in gray, and he looked like he had just stepped away from a regiment of the French Creole Army. He was large, taller than me and quite solid looking, with dark hair and a full mustache. Oh, and I forgot the scowl on his face.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur. I did my best to keep my wits about me, which was an absolute necessity for success in my profession, and I did an adequate job. As much as I can piece it together, it went something like this – soldier boy stormed into my corner of the shack and advanced threateningly on my first visitor. As soon as he got within ten feet of her the curled-lip disdain vanished, and an enticing and radiant smile spread across those beautiful lips. She rushed into my arms without a moment's hesitation and practically wrapped herself around me. She sighed seductively and kissed me with fire and passion, and left no doubt that I was the most important person in her life. Then loud enough to be distinctly heard, she murmured, "Oh, Broderick, I knew you'd be here waiting for me!"


	2. Rope

Chapter 2 – Rope

This seems like as good a place as any to give you some information about me. My name's Bart Maverick, not that it would make any difference to you. I'm what's known by everyday folks as a gambler, card sharp, con man, scoundrel, bounder, tin horn and a dozen other names, although none of those happen to be correct. I'm a professional poker player.

I have been my whole life. Well, at least since I was ten years old, when I won my first pot from an adult that wasn't a relative. I'd won money before that, but always from someone whose last name was Maverick. There's a whole bunch of us that play the game for a living, all with the same last name. Father, brother, uncle, cousin, and me. If we were to work like other folks, the family business would be poker. Thank God poker isn't work.

Now don't sit there and pass judgment on me or my kin. The reason I discount all of these derogatory labels is that the Maverick's don't cheat. Let me say that again. Maverick's don't cheat. We might do a lot of other things in life, but cheating at poker is not one of them.

I've impersonated a lawman, a Pinkerton detective, several crime bosses, a saloon manager, a ranch foreman, a cowhand, a horse wrangler, an investment broker and once, even, a bank robber. My brother and me travel the country playing cards for a living – sometimes together, sometimes separate, sometimes on the way to meet each other somewhere, like we were right now. I was making my way to Baton Rouge when I got caught in the downpour. That's where I was supposed to meet my brother Bret – not for another two weeks, thus my hesitancy to get drenched for no particular reason. It's a good life for the most part, and none of us would rather be doing anything else. That's why I've only played at all those other things.

I have to be quick, observant at all times and know how to read people, skills that are all essential to be successful in my chosen vocation. And ready for just about anything, because an entire life can change on the turn of a card. But the one thing I wasn't prepared for was exactly what happened that day. After almost two full days of nothing but boredom, my peaceful little kingdom had turned into a drawing room farce. From nothing but rain and wind to two horses, a French Creole soldier, an unknown paramour and a beautiful woman who was professing her undying love to somebody named Broderick, only it was me she was kissing.

I started to pull back from the kiss in a moment of sanity, but the pressure from her hands behind my neck pleaded with me to stay right where I was. Well, why not? I threw my heart and soul into it and returned the kiss exactly the way she'd offered it to me – with fire and passion, doing my best to convince her pursuer that I was Broderick and we were mesmerized by what we were doing. Her eyes, which were closed when she presented me with her lips, opened briefly, and there was a look of surprise and then amusement in them. The kiss seemed to go on forever, and I expected the soldier to step in and pull us apart at any second, but he had grown rooted in the earth and never moved. Finally she broke the kiss but held the embrace, and looked up at me with big golden eyes. "My darling," she murmured as I watched her.

"Here now, that's enough," the uniformed man ordered in a heavily accented Creole voice. "This can't be Broderick. This is a . . . a what you call it. A cowboy."

I gave him a scowl of my own and drawled back in my best Texas accent, "I most certainly am not a cowboy. I'm a Texan."

The girl in my arms did her best to maintain her composure, finally unwrapping herself from my neck and turning to face the man in such a fine uniform. There was just a faint trace of a Creole accent in her words. "What, I cannot love a Texan? Does Jacques think me incapable of such emotions? Is that why he sent you racing after me, to prevent me from being with the only man I truly desire?" She shifted her attention back to me. "Tell him, Broderick, tell him how completely Kate Duecet loves you. Tell him how I would marry you, die for you, go to the ends of the earth for you. That I would bear children for you and stay with you for the rest of our lives."

I blanched when I heard that one little word, marry, but the soldier was watching the woman and didn't see my reaction. I just stood behind her and waited for the next move. I didn't have to wait long.

The corporal drew his saber and his pistol, pointing one at me and one at Kate. "We are returning to the estate. I have my orders."

I didn't like the sound of that. I hadn't sat in this shack for two days trying to stay warm and dry just to leave under a cloud of mistaken identity. "And just what are those orders, soldier?"

He could have ignored me completely, but the man was well-trained. Someone had asked him a question and he gave the appropriate response. And my stomach turned over when I heard it. "Miss Duecet will be returned to her fiancé, as I was instructed, and Broderick Michaels will be hanged once that return has been accomplished."

"What . . . what?" It took a few seconds for me to realize that the almost inaudible squeak that asked the question came from my mouth. I put my hands on Kate's shoulders and spun her around to face me and tried again. "What?"

"It is not true!" she insisted, but I found the strength of her insistence a bit lacking. "Jacques Armand would never issue such an order. He knows that if he harmed a single hair on your head, he would spend the rest of his days alone and unloved."

"And I would spend the rest of my days dead," I muttered, just loud enough for Kate to hear. What was this all about, and why had I been the lucky recipient of Broderick Michael's death sentence? And just who was this Michael's character, anyway? Was he real or a figment of Kate Duecet's imagination? Apparently the soldier that had come to fetch Broderick and Kate had never seen the man, since he was willing to accept me as such. I shook my head. I could just hear my brother's voice asking, _'Bart Maverick, how_ _do_ _you manage to get into these things?'_ The only answer I had was _, I just wanted to stay dry._


	3. Fort St Rafael

Chapter 3 – Fort St. Rafael

My two days of hiding out from the storm were for naught; our Creole captor insisted that we leave immediately. At least the rain had slowed to a fine mist, and most of the wind was gone. I was allowed to gather my pitiful possessions before we departed, and without further hesitation we were off. Kate was unfettered, but I was handcuffed before mounting; we rode in front side by side, while our guard rode behind with his pistol directed our way.

Our small caravan wasn't terribly fast, as it was now extremely wet and very dark. We rode most of the night in silence, with only an occasional order given or question asked. Towards sunrise, or what would have been sunrise on a clear morning, I was finally willing to start asking my own questions – quietly.

"Kate Duecet, I presume." Actually, that was more a fact I wanted confirmed than an inquiry. The woman nodded but remained silent. We rode on for a few minutes before I continued. "And I'm supposed to be Broderick Michael's. Is he a real person?"

She nodded again before finally speaking. "He was a friend of mine."

"Was?" I asked.

"He's . . . gone."

That left more questions. "Gone as in left Louisiana or gone as in dead?"

A small sigh escaped her. "I'm not sure."

"And you thought it'd be a good idea to pretend I was Broderick Michael's because . . . " Prolonged hesitation. I tried again. "Because . . . "

"I thought Corporal Nicolas would let us go if you were," she answered me in a small voice.

Either she wasn't well acquainted with the military mindset or she was delusional. The corporal had been given direct orders, and he appeared bound and determined to carry them out. Which meant when he caught someone he had been instructed to apprehend, he wasn't violating orders and turning them loose. No matter what.

"And who is Jacques Armand?"

She almost spat out the answer to that one. "The man I was going to marry."

"Was?"

She turned her head away from me and I could barely hear her words. "I broke the engagement a month ago."

That only partially answered my question. He was her former intended; that much I knew. But just who was Jacques Armand?

That information would have to wait. Kate pulled her gelding to a halt and turned in her saddle to face Corporal Nicolas. "I'm starving," she insisted to the soldier. "Jacques will not be pleased when he hears you wouldn't even let us have coffee."

Who was this woman? She might as well have issued a command herself – Corporal Nicolas quickly found us a place to stop and deal with Kate's hunger. I was dragged down from my horse and forced to the ground handcuffed while the soldier built a fire. "You have a pot?" Kate asked me, and I nodded. "In the saddlebags?" I nodded again. "Do you have any food?" she questioned the corporal.

"A minimal amount, ma'am," came the reply, and a small amount of bacon appeared. That was followed by half a dozen biscuits, carefully wrapped in a scarf and quickly divided between the three of us. At least they weren't willing to let me starve.

Twenty minutes or so passed while we ate our meager meal and drank coffee. Let me rephrase that – I tried to drink coffee, which isn't easy when you're in handcuffs. They were tight enough that they bit and scraped at my wrists, but there was no talking the corporal into removing them. Little conversation passed between us – anything I had to say was strictly between me and Kate, and Nicolas was a good soldier and spoke only when spoken to. Finally the big man stood, and I knew it was time to be on our way. I ventured a question. "Where are we going?"

The soldier cast a sideways glance at me as I struggled to mount. Once that was accomplished he gave a brief answer. "The estate."

"What estate?" I persisted as we reformed our procession.

The corporal looked startled, as if I'd asked something I should have already known the answer to. "The Armand Estate."

"And where is that?" I continued, no doubt annoyingly.

"Shut up, or I'll save the fort a hanging." Somehow I doubted that. Corporal Nicolas appeared to be an extremely obedient, first-class soldier, and if he had been ordered to return me – uh, Broderick Michaels, to the estate, that's exactly what he'd do. And not carried limply over a saddle with a bullet hole in me.

I cast my eyes towards the lady that had gotten me into this mess. "Where's the Armand Estate?"

"Right outside Fort . . ." Something howled out in the trees and I didn't hear the rest.

"Fort what?"

"Fort St. Rafael," she replied again.

Fort St. Rafael was a place I'd heard about but never seen. I didn't even know if it was real. Built by the Creole's after Louisiana passed into American hands, it was populated by what remained of the French Creole Army. Many of the Creole aristocrats from New Orleans, Lafayette, and Baton Rouge were rumored to have bought land around the site and for a time it was believed that Fort St. Rafael might become another populated Louisiana city. A Cholera epidemic in the 1830's wiped out most of the civilians, and tales of the Fort drifted into legend. I knew of few who had ever heard of it, and no one who had seen it. And Kate Duecet had just proclaimed in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice that not only did it still exist, we were on our way there.

"How far is it?"

"We'll be there today," she announced.

"You came all this way by yourself?" It was hard to believe that she had arrived at my little shack, dry as a bone and without provisions, with no help of any kind.

"I didn't say that, did I?"

The woman was maddening. I was peacefully minding my own business in the middle of a Louisiana rainstorm when she thundered into my life and had, in all probability, sealed my fate with a hangman's noose. And it wasn't even me that was sentenced to the gallows, but rather a man named Broderick Michaels that she'd identified me as. I'd asked a simple question and gotten an evasive answer. "Who helped you, Kate?"

She turned her head to me and smiled sweetly. "Why you did, Broderick darling. You did."


	4. Rouzan

Chapter 4 – Rouzan

Fort St. Rafael was a real fort, but we didn't go there. We rode past it for a short distance to a gated compound, with high walls and guards of its own. Corporal Nicolas spoke to one of the guards, quietly enough so that he couldn't be overheard; the gates opened and we were waved in. The grounds were massive – I hadn't seen anything this big since the ranch on Valpariso Road.

In the distance a house was visible – something that looked like it should be built on the water in New Orleans. It wasn't as big as I expected, given the massiveness of the property, but it was still a good size. It was surrounded by barns and buildings that could have been warehouses, with several different paddocks and enclosed yards. Off to the south were smaller buildings that appeared to be individual houses. Homes for the people who toiled on the estate?

We rode on towards the house and I began to wonder – if Broderick Michaels had been sentenced to be hanged, why wasn't I at the fort proper? Why had I been brought to the Armand Estate? And back to the question that I'd never gotten to ask – just who was Jacques Armand?

The woman at the root of all this trouble was still riding next to me and I attempted to question her now. "Kate, why are we here? Why didn't Corporal Nicolas take me to the fort?"

Her answer was more forthcoming than the last response I'd gotten. "I'm sure Jacques wants to see you and gloat over your capture first."

"Won't he know I'm not Broderick?"

Her reply surprised me. Evidently the corporal wasn't the only one unfamiliar with the wanted man. "He's never seen Broderick."

"Then what kind of a trial did Michael's have? And what was he convicted of?"

She grew quiet again, and I knew there was an answer coming that I wouldn't like. "He didn't stand trial."

"So he wasn't convicted . . ."

"Of anything."

Everything I had heard or seen thus far was odd, or strange, or not according to Hoyle. So nothing Kate or anyone else told me should surprise me. The fact that Broderick Michaels didn't have a trial and had been convicted of no crime didn't exactly come as a shock. Great. Not only would they hang the wrong man, they'd hang him for no reason. I tried another question, knowing in advance that I wouldn't like this answer, either – but I had to know. "Under whose authority was he sentenced to hang?" A minute passed, then two, and there was no answer. "Kate?"

"Major General Emile Hugo Armand."

"Jacque Armand's father?"

"Yes. And the fort commandant."

It all started to make sense. The man scheduled to be Kate Duecet's father-in-law, the commander of the fort, had sentenced an innocent man to hang just to appease his son. What kind of a place was this? And why oh why had I agreed to participate in this charade, by the simple act of returning the woman's kiss?

When we finally arrived at the house the realization that it was larger than it looked from the first view hit me. Kate scrambled down from her gelding without the Corporal's help; he turned his attention to me since I was still mounted and had no intention of making this easy. "Get down," he ordered, but I refused to move. "Get down before I drag you down." When I still didn't dismount he reached up and grabbed me by the collar of my jacket and roughly yanked me off my horse. "Walk," he commanded, and shoved me forward so that I stumbled and fell to my knees.

That was the position I was in when another soldier appeared, this one with a more ornate uniform and stripes on his shoulder. Corporal Nicolas saluted, and I remained on my knees. "Is this the prisoner, Corporal?" An unnecessary question if I've ever heard one.

"Yes, sir. Broderick Michaels, sir, as ordered."

I decided it was about time to start denying I was anyone other than me. Kate Duecet was on her own. "My name isn't Broderick Michaels. It's Bart Maverick, and I can prove it."

The sergeant looked rather taken aback. He stared at me as if I had two heads before turning a scowl on the corporal. He spoke with a slight Creole accent, closer to Kate's than his subordinates. "Here now, what is this nonsense? Who is this man?"

I clambered awkwardly to my feet and extended my hands in front of me, still in handcuffs. My wrists were rubbed raw by this time. "Have these removed, sergeant. The corporal has arrested the wrong man."

The young soldier stood tall. "Miss Duecet identified him as Michaels, sir."

"She was lying. I'm not the man you're looking for."

Kate was standing several feet away when the sergeant appeared. She turned back toward the three of us and smiled but said nothing. "Miss Duecet?"

"Yes, Sergeant Rouzan?"

"Did you identify this man as Broderick Michaels?"

The smile never faded. "Yes, sergeant, I did."

Rouzan had asked the wrong question, so I asked the correct one. "Kate, am I Broderick Michaels?"

I watched her eyes and for just a moment thought that she might lie again. The golden orbs seemed to flicker with a light I hadn't seen before and then she did what I was hoping for – she told the truth. "No, you're not. I never saw you before I found you in that dirty shack."

Now the sergeant was in a quandary. Who was he to believe, his junior officer or the ex-fiancé of Jacques Armand? He looked to the soldier. "Corporal?"

Nicolas shook his head. "She identified him as Michaels, Sergeant. He never denied it. She kissed him, and he kissed her back, and it was not the kiss of two people who didn't know each other."

Damn that kiss! I should have known it would come back to haunt me. There was no use arguing with the sergeant – I could see he'd already made his decision. "Take them in to see Monsieur Armand." He glanced at me briefly as I lowered my arms, hands still manacled by handcuffs. "I do not blame you for the lie, Michaels. I would try everything in my power, too, if I were going to be hanged." He turned his attention to Kate. "Mademoiselle Duecet – you know better than to behave like a common American. Your pére would be so ashamed."

Rouzan turned on his heel and headed for a horse. Nicolas grabbed me forcefully by the elbow and half pushed, half dragged me through the front door of the house. Kate followed behind.

The grand expanse of the entryway was stunning. The ceilings were so high it hurt to crane your neck that far; the floors looked like polished quartz. There were elegant side tables along each wall; fresh flowers adorned the tables, and the walls were filled with art and mirrors. Double doors, now closed, were centered on the south wall, with another set on the east wall. A hall led from a single doorway on the north wall. The three of us stood in the entryway for several minutes before the doors on the south wall began to open, ever so slowly. A shadowy figure appeared in the doorway, tall and male. I was about to meet Kate Duecet's ex-fiancé, the man that waited expectantly for Broderick Michael's death, Jacques Armand.


	5. The Late Bart Maverick

Chapter 5 – The Late Bart Maverick

"Kate." That single word said everything. The voice was smoky and dark, sounding almost as shadowy as the silhouette framed in the doorway looked.

Her back was towards him and she kept it that way, refusing to turn and face him. She looked instead at me, then Corporal Nicolas, then back to me. Anywhere but the man that had called her name.

We were about the same height, the silhouette and me, but it was obvious he was the heavier of the two. The way the light shone all I could see was darkness and shadows – what looked like dark hair, maybe with a goatee. The clothes were more discernable – long, cream colored plantation coat, white silk waistcoat, cream trousers, tan boots. No gun belt. The figure took a step out into the entryway and spoke again, in the same tone as before. "Kate."

This time she turned and walked forward several steps, and when she stood in front of him she slapped him. Hard. He never flinched, never even blinked, but a cunning smirk crept across his face. "I see you missed me."

"Viper," she spat at him, and raised her hand to slap him again. This time he caught her wrist and held it aloft, not willing to take another stinging blow. "Let go of me," she hissed.

"The kitten has claws," he replied as he slowly loosed his grasp on her. She dropped her arm and glared, but made no attempt to move away from him. The man continued to stare at her, never breaking his gaze until Corporal Nicolas cleared his throat. Then his eyes shifted to me and took on a hardened look. "This is him?"

I thought it was a good time to speak up. "If by 'him' you mean Broderick Michaels, the answer is no. My name's Bart Maverick. Your corporal's brought you the wrong man."

A shake of the head. "Really, Michaels, that old chestnut. No creativity in your bones, is there?"

I was not to be dissuaded this time. "The name's Maverick and I can prove it. Take these handcuffs off and I'll show you."

"Really. Do I look that stupid?"

I bit my tongue. Right now I didn't need to be a smart-aleck. I needed to convince this man I was telling the truth, not make an enemy. "What can I do? I don't have a gun, and Corporal Nicolas does."

He gave it a moment's thought and shook his head. "Nicolas, find this so-called proof and bring it to me."

The corporal did as told and relieved me of my wallet – the one Pappy had given me that was engraved with my name on the outside flap. He handed it to the man that had to be Jacques Armand and retreated behind me again, never lowering his pistol.

Armand glanced at the engraving and opened the front flap, quickly finding my money. "Ah, at least he's not destitute. What else have we here?" He pulled out the letter from Bret that I carried with me, as well as the photo that Pappy had made with the two of us in Confederate gray uniforms. I suppressed a shudder. It didn't seem right, having a stranger scrutinize such personal possessions, but I didn't see that I had much choice in the matter.

He read through the letter and then studied the photograph. Finally he put both back where he'd gotten them, still holding the wallet in his right hand. "Quite clever, Mr. Michaels. Quite clever. All three items could convince someone of your identity. Yes, indeed. But not me. I don't for one moment believe any of this." He threw my wallet on the ground at my feet. "Pick it up and put it away, Michaels. After we hang you we'll bury it with you." He directed his next remarks to the soldier. "Corporal, take him down to the basement jail cell. You can deliver him to the fort tomorrow." He grabbed Kate by the arm and pulled her into the room with him, slamming the doors behind him.

Nicolas waved his gun at me. "That way," he instructed, pointing down the hallway on the north wall. I let out a long breath and, with difficulty, picked up what Armand had so carelessly thrown on the floor, tucking it inside my jacket. As I headed down the long, poorly lit hallway, only one thought kept going through my mind. _'You're a dead man, Bart. A dead man.'_

XXXXXXXX

Who keeps a jail cell in the basement, where a wine cellar might normally be? But that's just what was through the hallway and down many steps – a good-sized jail cell. It held two cots and several blankets, which I was grateful for. It was cold down here, as well as dark. I was hungry, too, but I expected that feeding the prisoner wasn't going to be a priority. The corporal seemed to have more compassion than I'd anticipated; he left a bucket of fresh water and a cup inside the cell and a lighted kerosene lamp outside of it. Once he was sure I was safely locked up he took further mercy on me and removed the handcuffs. Both wrists were bloodied from the rigidity and prolonged chafing; sore and tender, if I wasn't hanged tomorrow they'd heal.

I have no idea what time it was, or how long I was down there. I burrowed under the blankets to stay warm and did my best to sleep; staying awake would only give me time to ponder that my brother Bret would soon be the only son of Beauregard Maverick still alive. Some time later I heard footsteps, and much to my surprise an older lady in a black veil brought some sort of food, which she handed me carefully through the bars. I'm not sure what it was and I didn't much care – it was edible and at that point of the day or night that was the only thing that mattered. "Thank you," I murmured between bites, and to my surprise she answered me.

"Bienvenue." She spoke in heavily accented French, but she apparently understood English.

"Where am I?" I tried next.

"Emile House, Armand Estate."

"Where is Kate? Kate Duecet?"

She said no more and quickly disappeared back the way she'd come. I ate greedily, convinced this would be my last meal on earth. If by some miracle it wasn't, I had no idea if or when I might be fed again.

I'd been in a similar, if disparate, situation before when I sat in jail in Silver Creek, Montana, convicted of a murder I didn't commit. The biggest difference was a simple yet complicated one – in Montana it was Bart Maverick waiting for the gallows. Here on the Armand Estate they were sure they were readying to hang Broderick Michaels. I needed a rescue, and I needed one fast. Where was that brother of mine?


	6. Twenty Questions

Chapter 6 – Twenty Questions

Several hours later I was sitting on my cot playing Maverick Solitaire when I heard footsteps again, coming down the stairs. It was too soon to be another meal, and I wondered just who I was gonna be graced with this time. Turns out it was the woman whose kiss had gotten me into the mess I was in, Kate Duecet.

She'd changed clothes and done something with her hair, and it looked like she'd gotten some sleep. At least we'd both been able to do that – I was still dirty and mud-soaked from two days in the rain. That was the least of my problems.

"Magdalena said you asked for me."

So the lady who'd brought me food took my request seriously. I was surprised but pleased. I had more than one question to ask Kate, and I figured this would be the only chance I'd have to do just that. I was looking for any bit of information that might help me get out of this mess.

"I did, Kate. You got me into this and I have no intention of stretchin' a rope if I can avoid it. If you'd answer some questions, it might help."

I could see she was contemplating what harm it might possibly do her. After a minute or two she must have decided she had no downside and the least she could do was give me some answers. "Alright. I'll answer your questions if you answer one of mine. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Why did you kiss me back when I kissed you?"

I'd given that exact problem some thought. You mean besides the fact that I'd been sitting on my rear for almost two full days, waiting for the rain to stop, when a beautiful woman rode up and kissed me? I don't know about other men out there, but I guarantee if it had been any other Maverick he'd have done the same thing. How do I explain that to Kate? It was probably futile to try, so I didn't.

I shrugged my shoulders. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"That's all?"

"Not exactly. You're a beautiful woman, and I'm a man . . ."

"Oh."

I shrugged again. There wasn't much else I could do, or much else I could tell her. "Sorry."

Kate looked down at the ground and just a bit of pink coloring crept into her cheeks. "No, don't be sorry. You were honest. You really think I'm beautiful?"

She had to know that she was, but her question sounded sincere. "Yeah, I do." I paused and let that sink in for a minute. "You ready for my questions?"

She nodded, and I began. "If Michaels is real, where is he?"

"I really don't know. After he helped me get away from the estate, he rode north. He could be anywhere by this time."

"Why didn't you go with him?"

"We thought we'd have a better chance of getting away if we split up." On the surface, the answer seemed reasonable. I couldn't see it; it didn't strike me as a good idea to turn an obviously spoiled, pampered woman loose on horseback in the wilderness. My insides were telling me there was something not right here.

"Why doesn't anybody know what he looks like?"

"They do," she told me. "Magdalena's seen Broderick. So has Teres, at my father's house. Lots of the men at the fort saw him, but they didn't know who he was. He used the name Matthew Terry, and that's the name he was known by. When we got better acquainted he told me what his real name was."

"Why was he usin' a different name?" Now I was being naturally suspicious. Bret and me had both used phony names at one time or another, but there's always a reason when we do it. I wanted to know what Michaels' reason was.

"Something about an ex-partner that had cheated him. He explained it all but I can't remember everything he told me."

Ex-partners and cheating don't go well together. The oldest reason for using a different name was because the law was after you, and I wondered if that was the real case here. "What's this fella look like?"

Kate's mouth smiled, and her eyes smiled with her. "Not as tall as you and Jacques, but built well. Blondish hair, almost shoulder length, and the bluest eyes possible. He has impeccable manners, he dresses well, and just . . . oh, just about the best looking man I've ever seen."

"How many guns does he wear?"

"Guns? He doesn't wear guns." Uh-oh. That was the second or third thing that hadn't set well with me. There was definitely something here that wasn't quite right.

"What about a derringer? Or a shoulder holster?"

"He doesn't . . . oh, wait. I did see a shoulder holster once when he removed his coat."

On to the next subject. "How long have you known him? And how'd you meet?"

There was no hesitation in her answer. Why do women always remember things like that? "I met him at the fort. I almost ran over him when I turned around inside the General Store. He was so polite and charming. We talked, and he invited me to have dinner with him. That was exactly four months ago yesterday."

"I thought you were engaged to Jacques. What's an engaged lady doing accepting a dinner invitation from another man? Especially one she just met?"

"But I'd seen him before – in the store. My father is one of the non-military personnel at the fort. He owns the General Store. I'd seen Broderick on several occasions and noticed what a handsome man he was. And as for my engagement to Jacques – let's just say he's too fond of other ladies to make splendid husband material. We'd already had several disagreements over his choice of 'friends.' Female friends, I mean. It was only a matter of time before the engagement was broken by one or the other of us."

Ah, another great mystery of life – female logic. Although in this case I probably agreed with Kate – if Jacques had a fondness for ladies that weren't his, it wouldn't change after they were married. And if she was seeking a faithful husband . . . Monsieur Armand was not a good prospect. At least I knew I wasn't marriage material.

"When you two split up – where were you supposed to meet?" I don't know why I asked that question. Sheer curiosity, I guess. Trying to find the rat that I kept smelling.

"Baton Rouge."

How ironic. No wonder Kate stumbled on me in the shack. But that didn't answer the last question I had at the moment. "Were you and Broderick gonna get married?"

"I . . . I don't know. We hadn't . . . well, Broderick mentioned it once. But he hadn't asked me yet."

I was pondering that answer when one more finally occurred to me. "What does Broderick Michaels do for a living?"

"Do?"

"What's his profession? How does he make money? Or is he wealthy, too?"

"Well, no, not wealthy. But he has money." Then she gave me the last answer that I expected. "He's a gambler."


	7. A Hurrah for Mr Giggles

Chapter 7 – A Hurrah for Mr. Giggles

"A gambler?" I'd heard it, but I didn't believe it. There were too many coincidences for it to be . . . well, a coincidence. "You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Why would I make something like that up?" Good question.

"What game does he prefer?"

Kate started to get that petulant tone in her voice before she thought better of it. "Oh, that funny game. The one that makes me think of Egypt."

"Faro?" I asked.

"That's it! And he's very good at it."

Faro. That explained a lot. I could run a faro bank and had on more than one occasion. I could win at faro, too, but I didn't like the game. And that was probably why I hadn't heard of a gambler by the name of Broderick Michaels. Or even Matthew Terry, his alias, for that matter. We traveled in different circles. My game was and always has been poker; preferably five card draw. Faro holds no interest for me.

"Kate!" The cry had come from the top of the hallway; it was a man's voice, but not Armand's.

"Who's that?" I asked, but before I could get her to answer me she'd turned on her heel and hurried up the stairs. I could hear her voice conversing with the male voice, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. She'd given me a lot to think about, but at first glance none of it seemed to be anything I could use to get me out of here.

I went back to Maverick Solitaire. When I need to think I usually play poker, but that wasn't happening here and now, so I did the next best thing. I needed some time to digest everything Kate had told me; I really wasn't paying attention to what was going on around me. Some time later Magdalena appeared with a cup of coffee, and I was surprised to see her. I hadn't expected anything further from anyone upstairs. Not only that, she brought someone with her; someone I hadn't seen before.

"Who's your friend, Magdalena?" I asked as she handed me the cup.

He spoke, and I immediately recognized the voice. It was the man that had called for Kate at the top of the stairs. He looked to be about sixty years old, white-haired and on the short side. He wore glasses and something about him was familiar, although I'd never seen him before. It took a minute for me to recognize the golden eyes that looked at me through those glasses. They were Kate's eyes. This had to be her father. "I am . . . "

"Mr. Duecet," I finished for him. "Your daughter has your eyes."

"My name is Martin. And Kate tells me that you are not Broderick Michaels."

"That's right, Martin. My name's Bart Maverick. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And for that they intend to hang me."

Magdalena had disappeared back up the stairs, but Martin Duecet stood outside the cell and watched me pace around in circles. "Can you prove your identity?"

"I tried that. Armand refused to believe me. He's determined to stretch my neck, regardless of who I am. Seems like he has this strange notion that Kate will return to his side if Broderick Michaels is dead."

"What do you have as proof that you are Bart Maverick?"

Once again I pulled my wallet out and handed it to someone I'd just met. Duecet spent long minutes examining what I'd given him. He seemed particularly interested in the picture of me and my brother. When at last he put everything back where he got it, he looked thoughtful and rubbed his chin. "Jacques is not the one that must be convinced. It is Emile. He is the only one with the power to overturn the sentence, since he is the one that imposed it to begin with."

"Why? Why did he sentence Michaels to hang?"

"I hate to suggest this . . . but I believe it was Kate's fault. She and Jacques had a huge fight. A public fight, when she called off the engagement, and she humiliated the entire Armand family. I tried to stop her – I told her she would regret her actions, but you've met my daughter. Kate does what she thinks is right, and fails to take other people's feelings into consideration. Emile felt he had no choice and brought charges of sedition against Michaels, then declared the man guilty. He alone has the power to rescind the order."

That wasn't encouraging; I could think of no earthly reason for Major General Armand to believe me when I declared that I wasn't Broderick Michaels. Especially when his son was convinced that's just who I was.

"What would it take to persuade the major general I wasn't the man he wanted to hang?"

Duecet stood there for a minute or more with a look on his face that I could only assume to be deliberating – as if he kept thinking of answers to my question and then discarding them as unworkable, one by one. When he finally came upon one that he liked, his whole face brightened considerably.

"The photo – that is your brother?"

"Yeah, that's Bret."

"And is he still alive?" I had no idea where his questions were leading.

"Very much so."

"You know where he is right now?"

"On his way to Baton Rouge."

"You were going to join him?"

Why all the interest in Bret? "Yeah, I was supposed to meet him there. That's where I was headed when the storm first hit."

"How can I reach him?"

That was enough questions until I got some answers. "Why do you want to contact him?"

Martin was still smiling as he explained. "If I can reach your brother and have him come here without knowing you are in danger – and he identifies you as Bart Maverick when he first sees you, Emile would have to accept his word and set you free."

I understood what he was proposing, but I didn't think it'd work. First off, how did he intend to get Bret here without telling him it was me that was in trouble? Second, Michaels was supposed to be hanged immediately. Why would the major general be willing to wait at least several days, if not more, for a stranger to reach Fort St. Rafael? Particularly with Jacques so intent on carrying out the sentence as soon as possible? Martin's solution seemed hopeless, but what choice did I have?

"Do you think it'll work?"

Duecet shrugged. "I can only try. Since my daughter got you into this . . . I must try to get you out. What is the best way to send your brother a wire?" Martin had produced some paper and a pencil, to write down my answer.

I had to mull this over for a minute. My entire life depended on how the telegram was worded. "Send it to Bretton Joseph Maverick, Baton Rouge Kings Arms Hotel. _'Mister Giggles in danger of losing his other leg. Come quick. Fort St. Rafael, Louisiana.'_ That should do it. I hope."

"I will do my best, Bart Maverick. Let us hope I can persuade Emile to wait for a few days, lest he send the wrong man to the gallows. You will know if I was successful or not." With that short speech, Kate's father turned to the stairs and disappeared up them. And I started praying that Major General Emile Hugo Armand would be more easily persuaded than his son. Or by the time my brother got here, all he would be able to do was put a marker on my grave.


	8. Perchance to Dream

Chapter 8 – Perchance to Dream

"You can deliver him to the fort tomorrow."

Those were the last words I'd heard Jacques Armand say the night before, and it was definitely tomorrow. Yet no one came to haul my sorry hide to the fort, and the only one I saw was Magdalena when she brought something that was supposed to pass as breakfast. I did the only three things I could do, considering I was locked in a jail cell in the basement – I paced, played Maverick Solitaire, and tried unsuccessfully to sleep. I did everything in my power to not look at my watch every few minutes, and when I finally did it was closer to mid-afternoon than morning.

I was beginning to hope they'd forgotten about me when I heard someone in the long hallway on one side or the other of the stairs. It was a few minutes before the someone appeared. I expected a soldier, probably with handcuffs and a large pistol. What I got instead was Kate.

Not that I wasn't happy to see her. At this point I would be happy to see almost anybody. Almost. She was smiling and looked reasonably content, which made me believe that she hadn't been spending time with Jacques. "Does that mean good news?" I asked.

"It does. My father went to the fort to talk to the major general. He's been gone all morning."

If there was some significance to that, I failed to catch it. "Why is that good news?" I'd stopped pacing and stood grasping the bars. Kate was about a foot away from the cell; if I'd been so inclined I could have reached out and grabbed her.

"Emile Armand is a man of quick decisions. My father being gone all morning means the major general has taken the time to listen to him, rather than just ordering you to the fort and the gallows."

A significantly small amount of good news. There could be a lot of reasons Martin Duecet was still at the fort, none of them having anything to do with me. "Maybe," I replied.

"At the very least my father's intervention has put Jacques into a foul mood."

That pleased me no end. I'd met her former fiancé exactly once, and that had been once more than I would have liked. He was pompous and arrogant and believed he had some proprietary ownership of the woman standing in front of my cell. Unexpectedly she reached out a hand and touched the still raw marks on my wrists, and her touch was surprisingly gentle. It was the first concern she'd shown for me since the moment we'd met. "Do they hurt?" she asked.

"Some," I replied. It made me wonder – why now?

"I'll send Magdalena down with some ointment to put on them. Is there anything else I can get for you?" She was watching me with those big golden eyes, and for the first time I saw something in them that resembled remorse. "Bart . . ."

"Yes, Kate?"

"I want you to know – I'm sorry for telling Corporal Nicolas that you were Broderick. If I'd known it would come to this . . ."

I didn't know whether to believe her or rebuke her for not thinking, but I stopped myself from saying anything too critical. I'd contributed to the ill-advised charade by kissing the woman and not denying that I was Michaels. After giving it some thought, I realized I was in the same position as Kate. If I'd known it would come to this . . .

The afternoon went by slowly. Every time I heard a noise I expected an escort to the fort; I was jumpy as a mouse in a room full of cats. If Martin Duecet failed in his quest to delay the hanging while he sent for Bret, there was no hope that I could see. Magdalena brought me lunch and I sent it away; food was the last thing I was interested in.

Time passed with no word from Martin or his daughter; this was almost as bad as waiting in the jail in Montana. The only difference – this time I didn't have to watch them build the gallows to hang me on. With nothing better to do, I laid down on one of the cots and tried to think of anything to take my mind off what was happening – or rather, what wasn't happening. Funny thing, most everything I remembered involved Bret in one way or another. I guess that shouldn't surprise me; there've been times when we weren't as close as we should be, but for most of my life he's been the biggest influence a boy or a man could have. Sometime during the reminiscing my exhaustion caught up with me, and I actually fell into a deep sleep. So deep that I did something I hadn't done for quite a while – I dreamt about what might have been . . . or what still could be.

 _It was spring, and the Desert Willow that spread its flowers all over the little graveyard was in full bloom. Bret was standing at the edge of a grave, with his hat and what appeared to be Momma's Bible in his left hand. There was a buggy parked next to the tree, and a beautiful woman with flame red hair sat in it. Her name was Ginny, and she was Bret's wife. They'd married not long after . . . not long after Bret had brought the body back from Louisiana. Another woman stood next to him at the grave; a blonde with aqua blue eyes filled with tears. She reached down and took his right hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before she spoke._

" _I can't believe it's been three years already. It seems like he was here just yesterday, getting ready to go on that last trip to Houston and Baton Rouge. Where has the time gone?"_

" _I don't know, Doralice," Bret answered. "I still can't believe he's not in Little Bend with us. Every time I look at little Bartley it's like seeing my brother all over again at that age. I can't help thinking . . . if I'd just gotten to Fort St. Rafael a little faster . . ."_

" _Don't, Bret. You did your best; we all know that. It was a tragic mistake, and if they'd just waited like they promised . . . but nothing you can do will change it. All we can do is live our lives and never forget him . . ." as she spoke the tears spilled over and ran down her face. Bret let go of her hand and took her by the elbow, guiding her back to the buggy and helping her inside. Ginny Maverick put her arms around Doralice Donovan and held her, and the women did their best to comfort each other while Bret walked back to the graves._

" _I love you, Momma. I'm sure you're lookin' out for him, cause he needs somebody to watch his back. Brother Bart, you don't be givin' Momma any trouble, you hear? I'll be along one of these days, and we can do all our catchin' up then. I love you, Brother Bart, and I miss you every day. I'm sorry if I let you down. I'll never forgive myself . . ."_

" _Bart . . . Bart . . . Bart Maverick . . ."_

It took me a while to realize that it wasn't Bret calling me in my dream. It was a real live person standing just outside my cell. I sat up and shook my head, and the voice spoke again. "Mr. Maverick, its Martin Duecet."

I was on my feet immediately. He waited just outside the cell door, but I couldn't tell from the expression on his face whether he was pleased or disappointed. It was only a few seconds before he spoke, but those were the longest seconds of my entire life. "I have persuaded Major General Armand that it would not benefit him or the Armand family any if they were to hang an innocent man. Emile has agreed to wait for your brother to arrive from Baton Rouge to settle the matter once and for all; the execution has been postponed."


	9. The Most Important Book

Chapter 9 – The Most Important Book

I saw no one else that night but Magdalena when she brought food down much later. At last I ate; my stomach having untied its knots just enough to allow it. Eventually I even slept, this time for most of the night, and was awake and playing Maverick Solitaire when I heard familiar footsteps. Kate was back and there was no question that I was happy to see her; you can't imagine what it's like sitting in a gloomy and dark prison cell for hours on end with nothing to do but think.

She brought coffee, and appeared pleased to see me. "How are your wrists this morning?" Magdalena had applied some kind of ointment to them yesterday, and it seemed to help. At least they weren't as raw as they had been.

"Better. Is that all you came down here for?"

Kate shook her head. "Father said you were relieved last night when he told you about the stay of execution."

I almost had to laugh. "Who wouldn't be relieved? I have no desire to die, Kate, especially for somethin' I had nothin' to do with. Have you seen Jacques? How's he takin' it?"

"Not well. Not well at all. He was so furious when he heard about the delay he refused to eat and locked himself in his room. Already this morning he has stormed out of the house, insisting that he is riding to the fort to change his father's mind. He is adamant that the hanging must take place immediately, as originally scheduled."

Not the kind of thing you want to hear. Since I had no way out of the jail cell there was nothing I could do about it; still, it was enough to tie my stomach back in knots. "Any chance he'll be successful?"

"I doubt it," she answered hastily. "The major general gave his word to my father that he'd wait for your brother to arrive. Emile is a man of great honor – he'd never go back on his word. I can't think of anything that Jacques could say that would persuade him otherwise."

"So I'm just supposed to sit down here in this cold cell for days, maybe weeks, until Bret arrives?" I didn't mean to sound ungrateful – I was happy to be alive. But I don't do well with boredom; I never have. That's one of the reasons I read as much as I do.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I could bring you a book. Would that help?"

I nodded. "It would help a great deal. There were two in my saddlebags. You could bring those."

"Oh, no," she seemed genuinely disturbed. "Jacques had your belongings disposed of almost immediately."

I'm sure she wasn't expecting the anguished cry that I let out. One of those was my Momma's Bible, that I'd been carrying around with me for years. "NO! NO! You have to get the books back! One of them is my mother's Bible. It can't be gone!"

"I'm sure it is, Bart. I don't know what Corporal Nicolas did with them."

"Arrrggghhh! Kate, please, I can't lose her Bible. It's the only thing I have left!" Tears were stinging my eyes, and I didn't care if she saw them or not. I was in absolute agony – thinking that Belle Maverick's Bible had been thrown out like so much trash.

"Bart, don't! I'll . . . oh, darn it, I'll try. I'll try my best!"

Kate practically ran up the stairs; I could hear her hurrying down the long, narrow hallway. I crashed down on the cot, held my head in my hands, and sobbed like a little girl. I didn't care who saw me or heard me, all I could think of was everything that book had been through – including the time I lost it in a rockslide on Superstition Mountain. If Bret hadn't found it then . . . but he did, and gave it back to me, and I couldn't lose it now. At that exact moment it was the most important thing in the world to me.

Eventually the tears stopped, and still I sat on the cot, afraid to move. Afraid to even breath. Time passed, and I was so filled with despair over the loss that I didn't care about the cold, or the cell, or the hanging, or anything. I sat for what seemed like hours, eventually admitting to myself that being hung couldn't be any more painful than the agony I felt right now. Magdalena brought breakfast, and I wanted no part of it. Much later she brought lunch, and I refused that, too. I had no interest in anything, even getting out of the mess I'd helped to create. All I could think of was that leather-bound black book, with the faded inscription on the inside – _'To my beautiful, bewitching Belle. On our_ _wedding day. Forever yours, Beauregard.'_

I laid on the cot and stared at the ceiling until it swam in front of my eyes. When I heard footsteps again I assumed it was Magdalena making another attempt to feed me, and I never even sat up. Kate's voice finally startled me out of the fog of misery I was wallowing in. "Is this the book you were talking about?"

I scrambled to my feet and shook my head to clear it. There, held aloft in her right hand, was that beautiful, leather-bound book – my mother's Bible. I let out a yell that could be heard all the way to the fort as Kate handed it to me. "Thank you," I murmured. "I don't know how you did it, but thank you."

"I found this one, too," she said as she handed me the second book, a copy of _'Round the Moon,'_ by Jules Verne. I turned and dropped it on the cot; I was glad to have it back, but it meant nothing compared to what I already held in my hands.

"I'm sorry it took so long. I found that Jules Verne book, but the Bible was harder to find. The servants were burning trash, and they had piles and piles – I had to go through most all of them before I found it. Just in time, too." She stopped and watched me for a minute. I'm sure I was quite a sight – as deep in despair as I had been, I was now that joyous. I clutched the book to my chest and breathed in the smell of the leather. "Magdalena said you haven't eaten anything all day. If I bring you something, will you eat now?"

"Sure," I said. Now that I had Momma's Bible back, I could think of something besides what I'd lost, and I found that I was hungry.

Kate smiled – pleased, I think, that she'd been able to do something good for me. "I'll be back soon," she promised, then turned and went back up the stairs. I was happy to wait and sat back down, still holding the precious book in my hands. The light was dim, but it was enough to see by, and I let the Bible fall open where it wanted to and began to read . . .

I'm not sure how long Kate was gone; I got absorbed in the words I was reading and wasn't paying close attention. When at last I heard footsteps I thought I was imagining things, because it certainly sounded like more than one person was coming down the stairs. _'Probably has Magdalena with her,_ ' crossed my mind, and I kept reading until the footsteps stopped; when I looked up it wasn't at all what I expected.

There were three soldiers, Corporal Nicolas and two others. Nicolas had handcuffs in his hand again. The other two soldiers had pistols aimed in my direction. That wasn't all. Standing behind the soldiers, holding a rope with a noose knotted at the end of it, was Jacques Armand. And he was smiling.


	10. Clean Clothes

Chapter 10 – Clean Clothes

"Get up, Michaels. It's time for you to die."

I guess I should have expected this. I figured there were gonna be consequences when Kate told me that Jacques had gone to the fort to change his father's mind about delaying the hanging – but I honestly hadn't anticipated him showing up with a rope, ready to conduct the execution himself. Where was Kate? Better yet, where was Martin? Where was anybody that would put an end to the farce that threatened to leave Bart Maverick dead and Broderick Michaels alive?

I wasn't gonna make it easy for him, that much was a certainty. I set the Bible down on the cot and got to my feet, backing into the far corner of the cell. It was gonna take all three of the guards to drag me out of there, and that's just what they'd have to do. Corporal Nicolas unlocked the door and came towards me, expecting my cooperation. He didn't get it. I fought like my life depended on it, because it did. I got in a couple good punches; one of them sent Nicolas sprawling across the cell. Not that it did any good – there were three of them, after all, and only one of me.

I didn't see which one it was that got behind me, but I sure felt it. It must have been a gun butt that nearly cracked my skull open – that was the last thing I knew for I don't know how long. They dragged me out of there, because when I woke up I was being dumped into the bed of a wagon. It was pitch black outside, with no moonlight at all. I had a gag in my mouth, probably to keep me from crying out and summoning help, and it certainly worked. My hands were handcuffed behind my back, making it almost impossible to move, much less struggle. I couldn't see who was driving the wagon, but Jacques rode alongside on a white horse. The animal was just about the only thing I could see in the dark.

I have no idea how far away from the house we went; I bounced around in the wagon for quite a while, my head throbbing and my throat dry. The handcuffs were once again biting and chafing my wrists, and I felt something wet on them and knew they were bleeding. A most unpleasant journey that was intended to end with my hanging.

We finally arrived at our destination, a gigantic live oak tree that was to serve as the gallows. Armand had given the rope to Corporal Nicolas; he found an appropriate branch and prepared the instrument of my impending execution as the other two guards dragged me to my feet. Once again I struggled against them, but there was not much that could be done, considering the damage to my skull and the fact of my handcuffed hands. They had removed the gag, for all the good that did; there was no one to hear me, should I choose to yell. I saw no hope for any escape or reprieve, but something in me simply wouldn't give up. I managed to knock one of the soldiers out of the wagon even as Nicolas slipped the rope around my neck.

"Hold him still," Jacques yelled as I ducked to the left and managed to slide out from under the noose. The guard I'd knocked out of the wagon clambered back in and gut punched me, and I doubled over in pain. The other soldier grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head and my whole body backward, and once again I found the noose in place; this time Nicolas tightened it quickly.

"Now, Mr. Michaels, you shall pay with your life for stealing my woman from me," Armand pronounced, and I waited for the lurch of the wagon as it was pulled out from under me. It had taken all three soldiers to subdue me, however, and there was no one in the driver's seat holding the reins. As the corporal did his best to hold me still, one of the others rushed forward to take control of the team pulling the wagon. It was then that I heard them; horses hooves coming at a furious pace, accompanied by a voice shouting something in French that I couldn't understand. Armand heard them, too, and tried to start the team, but the soldier attempting to grab the reins had gotten tied up in them, and the wagon went nowhere.

Finally I could see the riders approaching; it was a military officer with half a dozen soldiers behind him. He was almost on us before I realized it was Major General Emile Armand. And he looked none too pleased. He barked orders in French, and Corporal Nicolas hastened to remove the rope from my neck. "The handcuffs, too," was the next order, in English this time, with that thick Creole accent. It had begun to get light outside, and I could see and feel the blood running down my wrists to my fingertips as I pulled my arms forward. Lest I get the wrong idea, there was the barrel of a pistol immediately thrust into my back.

The major general rode straight to Jacques. "You defy my orders? You make a laughingstock out of me, your own father? Did I not tell you I had given my word that this man was not to be executed now? And you stage this mockery of a hanging just to sooth your own damaged ego?"

"Father, I . . . "

"SILENCE! You disobedient fool! And you wonder why the woman found solace elsewhere! You cannot be trusted to behave like an adult, Jacques. If you were one of my soldiers, I would have you court-martialed. This man is my prisoner now, and I alone shall be responsible for his welfare – and whether he lives or dies." He turned his attention from his son to me, still standing in the wagon bed bleeding. "Mr. Maverick, is it? Where are your belongings?"

"Major General, what's left of them is in the basement cell at the estate." I did my best to keep my voice even and steady, even though I was shaking inside. It isn't often someone tightens a noose around your neck and you live to talk about it.

"What's left of them?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Armand had everything else destroyed. I believe that included my clothes, too."

The major general turned in his saddle. "Jacques, is that true?" He waited but got no answer. "Well, is it?"

"We have his clothes. A gambler's clothes, no less." The tone was petulant, rather like the tone I'd heard early on in Kate's voice.

"And the other belongings?"

"Burned."

Emile had one more question. "And his mount?"

"Father! I would never harm an animal, no matter who it belonged to!"

Well, that was good to know. He was willing to treat my horse a whole lot better than he'd treated me. "You're takin' me back to the fort?"

The major general nodded. "I am, Mr. Maverick. Jacques, I want this man's clothes and what's left in the cell at the estate. And I want all that immediately. From now on he will reside at the fort. Lieutenant, take two men and return to the estate with my son and bring Mr. Maverick's belongings to my quarters at the fort. Corporal Nicolas, take the spare horse and ride on ahead – I want Doctor Roche waiting when we arrive."

I climbed up to the front seat of the wagon and was joined by one of the major general's men, who took the reins and headed back towards the fort. Emile Armand rode alongside us for a way, and that's when I issued what might have sounded like a peculiar request. "Major General Armand, might there be any way that I could . . . I mean I would very much like to . . . can someone arrange for me to have a bath, sir? I've been in these clothes for a week, and quite frankly, I can no longer stand myself. I would be most appreciative if I could get into some clean clothes, too."

The stern expression stayed in place on Armand's face, but there was a slight tone of amusement in his voice. "Am I given to understand that even though you were almost hanged tonight, Mr. Maverick, what matters most to you right now is a bath and fresh clothes?"

I did my best to keep a straight face. Armand was right, I'd been seconds away from being hanged, and right now my focus was on hot water, and plenty of it. "Yes, sir, I would be most grateful if I could feel like a clean human being again."

The major general smiled. "Only a true gentleman would worry about something like that. By all means, sir, whoever you are, you shall be clean!"


	11. Hot Water

Chapter 11 – Hot Water

The sun was bright in the sky by the time we reached Fort St. Rafael. It was larger than I first thought, and much tidier looking than most other forts I'd seen. And there were a lot more soldiers than I'd expected.

I was in quite a bit of pain when we arrived; in addition to my raw and bleeding wrists, I had rope burns around my neck and throat, and my body felt like a team of mules had run over it. I'd be more than happy to see Dr. Roche, even though I knew there wasn't a whole lot he could do to ease the suffering I was feeling. And the promise of a bath, and clean clothes! Right now that was where I kept my focus, doing my best not to contemplate how close I'd come to being hanged.

Dr. Roche was a young man, probably in his mid to late thirties, tall and wiry. He had a head full of black hair that reminded me of Bret, and a small and neat mustache. He wore a military uniform with the rank of captain but didn't talk or act like a military man. He tended to my wounds with sympathy and precision, and gave me some insight to the major general.

"He's a good man, a fair man. He tried to raise his son the same way, but the boy's mother was determined that Jacques would not grow up to be a military man. Despite his father's best efforts, his mother's ways prevailed. You've seen the results."

I couldn't help it, I had to ask. "If the major general is such a fair and honest man, why'd he condemn a man to death that he knew nothin' about?"

The doctor seemed uncomfortable with the question but answered it anyway. "There was proof. Manufactured, I suspect. And witnesses, several of those. In the end it came down to believing the primary witness – your own flesh and blood – over anything else. There was no other conclusion that the major general could have come to."

"And now? Would he still hang a man, knowing that the chief witness had lied?"

"I don't know, Mr. Maverick. You really are Bart Maverick, aren't you?" Seems I didn't have to do much to persuade the doctor of my identity.

"Yeah, Doctor, that's exactly who I am. I wish the Armand's were as easy to convince."

He shook his head as he finished with the cuts on my wrists. "It's going to take some mighty powerful evidence to do that."

There was a soldier outside the door, and he and his pistol escorted me to the head man's office. I was ushered in while the soldier took up the same position as before, outside the door. I stood until the major general signaled me to sit down. "Doctor Roche seems to have given you a clean bill of health, so far as he could. I have some questions I'd like to ask you, Mr. Maverick, if you don't mind."

"As long as I can ask a couple of my own, sir." He might not have been my superior officer, but the man still commanded respect. Even from me. He had, after all, just that morning saved me from a lynching.

"I would think that only fair, given what my son put you through last night. What is it you wish to know?"

Now was not the time for faint heart. "Are you gonna throw me back in handcuffs? Or in a jail cell?"

That first question seemed to elicit a faint smile from the major general. "No, Mr. Maverick, I see no reason to keep you in handcuffs. Looks to me like you've already seen enough of those." He was no doubt referring to the bandages on both my wrists, the result of my previous incarcerations. "As for my throwing you in a jail cell – in spite of my son's insistence that you are a dangerous criminal, you seem to be an honorable man. You will be confined to quarters during the day, and there will be a guard with a weapon outside your door at night. If there is any hint of trouble, however, I will move you to the post jail. Is that clear?"

Crystal clear. "Yes, sir." I was relieved, to put it mildly. My least favorite thing to do in this world is to sit inside a jail cell. "Were your soldiers able to obtain the belongings I had at the estate?"

"They were. Everything they brought back is in the quarters I've had prepared for you. And when we are done here there will be a bath made available. Anything else?"

"No, sir, that's all for now. I appreciate your consideration."

"Good. Now it's my turn." For the next hour the major general asked every conceivable question. When was I born? Where was I born? What were my parent's full names and current status? My brother's name? Any other siblings, alive or dead? Where did I live currently? What did I do to earn a living? Had I done any other jobs in my life? The answers to that question alone kept us busy for almost fifteen minutes. Where was I going before I met Kate? Where had I just been? Had I ever been arrested? That was another one with a long string of answers.

Then he instructed me to explain to him just what I was doing in the shack, how long I'd been there, how long I intended to stay, and what happened from the moment I first saw Kate until we arrived at the Armand estate. Midway through the detailed encounter I had to request water, and was offered coffee in addition to the water. I gratefully accepted both.

It finally dawned on me that the major general was attempting to become an expert in all things Bart Maverick. That way he would feel free to question Bret extensively and compare the answers. There were so many ways anyone who was conducting an elaborate ruse could be tripped up; the soldier in him wanted to be dead certain of the decision he made regarding who I really was.

I was exhausted by the time the major general was satisfied. No sleep, no food, endless questioning that required exact and precise answers, blood loss, not one but two different beatings, the mental anguish of almost being hanged, and there wasn't a drop of anything that even vaguely resembled energy left in me. The only thing keeping my eyes open was the thought of finally getting clean after so many days of rain, dirt, and the same clothes.

When I was escorted from the room, I was taken to a different building entirely. It was small and appeared to have been an officer's quarters. There was a bed, a desk, two chairs, and a closet. Stacked on the desk were the Jules Verne book and Momma's Bible, and laying on the bed was my bag, full of every bit of clothing I'd brought with me.

I had just finished hanging everything that needed it in the closet when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," I yelled, and a private that looked like he was about twelve years old opened the door.

"Mr. Maverick, I've come to take you to the bath Major General Armand has arranged. Please bring your clothes and follow me." I grabbed the clothes I'd left on the bed and hastily followed the private out the door. He went straight to another building marked _'Bath House'_ and opened the door for me. "I'm to stay here until you're finished."

"Inside or outside?" I questioned.

The private turned beet red. "Outside, sir." He closed the door behind him and left me in absolute heaven – with a bathtub full of hot water and two clean towels on a chair a few feet away from the tub. For the first time in over a week I felt like a human being again – and not a puddle of mud. I was luxuriating in the wonderfully warm water when the door opened suddenly, and in walked the last person I expected to see – Kate Duecet!


	12. Playing Dress Up

Chapter 12 – Playing Dress-Up

"KATE!"

That was about the only thing I could say when Kate Duecet walked, unannounced, into the bath house and caught me luxuriating in the first bath I'd had in over a week. If I'd thought there was a chance that anyone might walk in on me I might have been a bit more modest while trying to get clean; as it was, I was buck naked and enjoying every minute of the warm water against my skin.

She giggled like a schoolgirl and seemed to relish my obvious embarrassment. "Catch you at a bad time?"

What had happened to the young guard outside? "How did you get in here?"

"Oh, it wasn't too difficult," she answered, and grinned.

"What do you want?" I decided that if Kate wasn't bothered by being in a bath house with a naked man, I shouldn't be bothered by being the object in question. But I did want to know how she'd managed to turn up here and now.

"I wanted to make sure for myself that you were alright."

"You could have just asked."

She shook her head. "Not when I found out what Jacques had done. By the time I came back downstairs with some food you were already gone, and so was Jacques. He tried to hang you himself?"

"With some help from Corporal Nicolas and a couple others."

"The marks on your neck. He must have gotten close to succeeding."

Her words brought back the feel of the noose being tightened as I struggled to stay alive and I shuddered. "Too close."

"Bart." I waited for something to follow my name, and eventually it did. "You've been through a lot because of me. What can I do to make it up to you?"

My answer didn't take long. "Let me finish my bath in peace."

Kate seemed to be mulling over my plea before agreeing to my request. "Alright. But isn't there something more I can do?"

I wondered just what she had in mind. "No, thank you. I seem to end up in trouble when you're around."

"Are you sure?" What was she getting at?

"I'm sure."

She headed for the door as I sank further down into the tub. "I'll leave for now. But you think about it before you decide." Right before she left the room, she turned to me and declared, "I can kiss better than that." Just what was she suggesting?

Before I could say anything else she was gone, and I breathed a sigh of relief. That woman was trouble with a capital T, and I'd had enough of it to last a lifetime.

XXXXXXXX

Shortly after returning to my quarters another soldier brought what was to pass as breakfast. Coffee, toast, and oatmeal with honey; it wasn't a lot but it was food, and I welcomed it. I was still exhausted, and after eating I had to lie down and close my eyes. Of course, I was asleep almost immediately, and I slept for what must have been quite a while with nothing to bother me. I woke once and rolled over, so thankful to be in a real bed at last that I went right back to sleep. Sometime during that second sojourn my unconscious mind finally tried to deal with the trauma of the 'almost' hanging and, as usually happens when I haven't faced something head on, I dreamt.

The only difference was that I didn't remember it the way I usually did. There were just bits and pieces left in my memory when I finally woke up, and I was terrified by them. I remember seeing Kate in one of the vignettes; we were lovers and had been for some time. The next thing that stuck in my mind was a terrible fight between me and Jacques. We beat the hell out of each other until he gained the upper hand and put me on the ground. As I struggled to regain my feet his boot crashed down on my right hand, shattering it completely. I screamed in agony and knew instinctively the hand would be useless henceforth – I'd never play poker again.

The last thing that came to me – and I can see this vividly – was Bret's arrival at the fort. For some reason he couldn't or wouldn't answer any of the questions the major general asked – and I was declared to be Broderick Michaels. The sentence to hang was reinstated and, as I was taken to the gallows, Bret and Kate stood together holding hands. I felt the noose placed around my neck and tightened. The trap door opened and for just a brief second I sensed I was falling; then I heard a noise that sounded like a bone snapping, and I woke in a panic.

Why did these things plague me? I can't answer that. For a long stretch I hadn't dreamt anything of consequence – something had happened in New Orleans that affected me for quite a while afterward, and my nightmares seemed to disappear. But they had come back to me full force since I found myself in this situation with Kate, and this one left me a shaking mess. It didn't make any sense to me, especially the part about Bret.

I was lying in bed trying to settle myself down when there was a knock on the door. "Yes, come in," I yelled, and the door swung open. It was a different soldier; this one looked a little older than twelve. "Yes, private?"

"Major General Armand wants you to join him for supper."

Supper? I'd slept the entire day? "How soon, private?"

"In an hour. In his quarters. Someone will come and get you."

"That's fine. Tell the major general I'd be most happy to join him."

The soldier nodded and closed the door behind himself. My worrying about the strange dreams I'd had was over for now. I had to shave and get dressed so that I was ready when the next soldier came for me. Shaving – that was something I hadn't done for a while. Come to think of it, no one here had seen me without at least a three-day growth of whiskers.

When I walked into Emile Armand's quarters, I looked like an entirely different person. Clean shaven, dressed in black striped trousers, with a pin-tucked shirt and my customary tie, a black silk waistcoat and a black broadcloth frock coat.

"Well, I must say, Mr. Maverick, you look quite human again," the major general remarked. "I take it you slept well?"

If you didn't count my nightmares. "Yes sir, quite well, thank you."

There was a knock on the door, and Armand turned to me first. "I hope you don't mind, I've asked someone else to join us." Then he turned back to the door. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal . . . Kate. She was dressed in a beautiful red gown, with her hair piled on her head, and looked every inch the proper lady. I had to wonder though, why had the major general invited her? Was this somehow another test, like the myriad of questions had been earlier in the day? Did the man who would have been her father-in-law wish to see how we behaved around each other? Were we awkward, the way strangers would be, or would we be comfortable and familiar, like longtime lovers?

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at me. "Oh, my," she breathed. "You clean up real nice."


	13. Strangers

Chapter 13 – Strangers

"Thank you, I think," I answered Kate awkwardly. "You look nice, as well."

"Both of you, please have a seat," the major general instructed us, and my manners won out over my apprehension. I helped seat the woman to Emile's right, and I sat across from her. Within seconds another private entered the room, carrying a bottle of wine and a tray of delicate pastries. The soldier opened the wine and poured some for the major general, who tasted it and pronounced it 'perfect.' It was a sweet red and had a bit of a bite to it. I sipped mine while Kate practically drank hers down in one long gulp. I wondered if she always drank like that.

The pastries had some kind of meat in them and were quite good. Of course, I was so hungry by that time I'd have eaten almost anything; once again I mentally questioned the reason for this supper. "Major General, while I appreciate not being locked in a cell and thrown food like a hound, I have to wonder why the elaborate meal? Is there something you're hoping to discover during its course?"

Emile Armand's face betrayed him for just a moment, and I knew I was right; this was another way to aid his decision about my real identity. But there was something else going on here, too, and I wondered if it had to do with Kate. Maybe she wasn't as sure of her broken engagement as she led everyone to believe. After meeting Jacques Armand I couldn't blame her for the decision she'd made to call off the wedding, but a woman is always entitled to have second thoughts.

"You're very astute, Mr. Maverick. But then a gambler would need to be, wouldn't he?"

Kate's head came up sharply when she heard the word 'gambler.' I'd forgotten she had no idea that I was one, too. "You didn't tell me you were a gambler, Bart."

"You didn't ask, Kate."

"Do you play faro, too?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Poker. I've played it since I was a baby." I turned my attention back to Major General Armand. "Now, sir, what is it you're trying to find out? Perhaps I can help."

Before he could answer, the same private that delivered the wine brought in a platter of food. There was beef, potatoes of some kind, and green beans, along with butter and what smelled like freshly baked bread. My stomach growled so loudly it could be heard at the estate. Once the soldier had set down the tray and absented himself from the room, Emile gave me an answer of sorts. "Let us eat, eh, Maverick? We can bargain later."

Bargain? Just exactly what did the major general have in mind?

The food was good, especially for food prepared at a fort, and the majority of the time was spent talking about nothing of any consequence. When the meal was over there was still some wine left, and I poured the remainder into Kate's glass. She gave me a dazzling smile and I simply looked away. There was something going on behind those golden eyes, and I wanted no part of it.

It was time to remind Armand of his previous remarks. "Major General, back to my earlier question. What was the purpose of this meal? What is it that you hoped to learn?"

The fort commandant had risen from his seat at the table and gone to the door. He pulled it open slightly and I could see the soldier that had served our food outside; Armand said something to him and closed the door. He turned back to the table and retook his seat before offering me an answer of any sort. "Several things, Mr. Maverick. First, I wanted to see the way you and Kate interacted in a social setting with each other. That knowledge would be very beneficial in my decision regarding your identity. Second, I hoped to discover Kate's genuine feelings about Jacques and the broken engagement. And last but not least, I have a plan I'm considering implementing to try and remedy something that's gotten completely out of hand."

That was quite an agenda. I'd guessed correctly about his first point – he wanted to see if Kate and me were familiar with each other. I believed that the relationship had seemed strained and awkward . . . I'd like to know what Emile believed. I had no answer at all when it came to Kate's feelings about Jacques and the engagement. And the major general's last item – the plan he was considering – it could have been anything at all. I couldn't begin to imagine what he was thinking about.

Before I could say anything, a soldier we hadn't seen before entered the room and cleared the table. Less than a minute later our original private had returned with another tray, this one loaded with a coffee pot and cups and a snifter of brandy. He poured coffee for all three of us, then handed the brandy to the major general and left. Armand put a good amount into his cup and passed the snifter to Kate; she followed suit. I turned down the brandy and left the snifter in the middle of the table. Emile raised an eyebrow when I passed on the liquor. "No brandy?"

"No brandy, thank you. I'm curious as to any conclusions you may have come to on the three points you raised. Are you inclined to share any of them?" I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a cigar. Looking directly at Kate, I asked, "Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind. That's another thing I didn't know about you."

"Hard to smoke when you don't have either cigars or matches." Actually, I'd had both in my jacket in the shack, but they'd gotten soaked through and were useless. I lit the cigar and took a good draw, blowing the smoke away from the table.

"As to your question, Mr. Maverick – I have come to the conclusion that you were not previously acquainted with Kate, in any capacity. In other words, I believe that you are indeed Bart Maverick, and not Broderick Michaels, as Kate had initially claimed. Why she chose to lie to Corporal Nicolas I have no idea. I leave that up to Kate to explain to us, if she would."

The lady in question took a sip of her coffee and added more brandy before she spoke. "I'll tell you just what I told Bart, Emile . . . I hoped that if the corporal believed he was Broderick, Nicolas would let us go. It was a risk, a chance I was willing to take, not realizing what kind of trouble it would cause."

"It almost cost me my life," I reminded her, reaching up to gingerly rub the raw spots on my neck.

"And it would have, had I not arrived when I did. And it could have cost Jacques his life, too, for committing murder once we discovered Mr. Maverick's true identity."

Kate stared at her coffee cup. "I regret my actions, Emile. I've already apologized to Bart."

"Major General, if you believe me when I tell you that I'm Bart Maverick, send my brother a telegram and tell him it's not necessary to come here. Let me take my belongings and head for Baton Rouge, as originally planned. There's no sense in continuing to hold me here against my will." I was hoping that my logic would persuade Armand to let me go, the sooner the better.

I was destined to be disappointed. "I wish that I could, Mr. Maverick; I have no choice but to deny your request. First of all, there was a preponderance of evidence against Broderick Michaels, and I have only my own instincts to tell me you are not that man. I need proof of your identity; your brother will provide irrefutable proof. Then there is my son. He is thoroughly convinced that you are Michaels. If I allow you to leave here without proving that you are not, he would surely follow you, and at some point make another attempt on your life. Given enough chances, I have no doubt he would eventually succeed. And then I would be forced to hold a trial and hang my own son.

"I cannot take that chance, with your life or his. I beg your understanding."

I believed every word he said. No doubt Jacques would follow me and find some way to end my life, and I had no desire to die by his hand. But I didn't have to be happy about the fact that I'd have to stay here, for my own well-being. "I don't like it. But I do see your point."

Emile Armand, Jacques Armand's father, turned his attention to Kate Duecet. "Kate, I must know how you feel about my son. Do you love him no longer? Would you really prefer to spend your life with a man you barely know, rather than Jacques? Could you have fallen in love with another man so quickly? Please, I beg of you, answer me honestly."

"In front of a man that's a total stranger?" Now I was a total stranger?

Emile's face hardened; I could almost see him turning into the major general. "You knew him well enough to kiss him and claim he was your lover . . . to risk his life on a whim . . . now you say he's a stranger? You cannot have it both ways, Kate. You are the one that sullied his reputation with your lies, have the decency to answer my questions in front of him. He has a right to know the truth."

Kate got up from the table and walked away, turning her back on both of us. When she answered, her voice was barely audible. "Emile, I . . . I still have feelings for Jacques."


	14. The Deal

Chapter 14 – The Deal

' _Emile, I . . . I still have feelings for Jacques.'_

I don't think the major general was surprised by Kate's answer; she'd certainly acted like a woman that wasn't sure of her feelings, about either of the men in her life. And it was no shock to me that she finally admitted what I'd suspected all along – she was furious with Jacques Armand and had more than ample reason to call off their engagement – but that didn't mean she'd stopped loving him.

Kate had used Broderick Michaels to make Jacques Armand jealous, and to distract her from the pain that Armand's womanizing ways had caused her. She'd used me in the same way, although for a much shorter period of time. Did she have real feelings for Michaels? It sounded like she did, but Kate was the only one that could answer that. The one thing she felt for me was guilt – of that I was certain. So where did that leave all of us?

Michaels was on the run, with a death sentence hanging over his head. I was on the verge of having that sentence imposed on me instead, and Jacques had done his very best to commit murder. Kate was a confused mess, and Emile seemed intent on getting to the truth, whatever it was.

Armand's next question seemed reasonable – maybe not answerable, but reasonable. "And just what do you intend to do about it?"

I took another draw on my cigar and blew out the smoke, waiting to hear what she had to say. When I finally looked at her, I was surprised to find her in tears. Somehow I didn't think Kate had emotions that ran deep enough to cause her such pain. "I don't know. Just because I still care for him . . . I can't live a life with him the way he behaves . . . the women, the bull-headedness, the disregard for anyone's feelings but his own. He wouldn't listen to me when I tried to tell him . . . it seems he would rather own me than love me."

"I got those same impressions from him, Major General. Like Kate was a piece of property, to be controlled rather than cared for." I hadn't intended to say anything – I'd just gotten out of the fire and didn't care to end up back in it – but I'd seen that possessiveness of Armand's firsthand. It was so strong that he would have hanged me for challenging his ownership, whether I was Broderick Michaels or not. Anything that threatened his hold on the woman he purported to love was fit only to be disposed of.

"And the real Broderick Michaels? Do you have feelings for him also?" I was surprised at the gentleness of the question. The major general sounded more like a doting father than a stern, almost father-in-law. The look he gave Kate was full of concern and love and pity, and I felt nothing but sadness and compassion for this man. A hot-headed, arrogant son, a fickle, spoiled rotten daughter-in-law to be, and a fort full of French Creole soldiers who obeyed his every command. I was fortunate that he was as fair-minded a man as I'd ever run up against; a lesser man in any way would have let his son hang me and been done with it. It was the easy way out.

Kate's tears hadn't stopped, and now you could hear it in her voice. "I . . . I don't know . . .oh, I do, I suppose. But I will admit to you, Emile, that I should never have tried to run away with him. And Bart," here she turned and looked right at me; "I do regret the way I acted towards you, from the very beginning. It was unfair to put you in that position. I wasn't thinking. I didn't believe that Jacques would ever try . . . but he did, and I am so sorry."

There it was, something I never thought I'd hear from Kate Duecet. A heartfelt apology. Right now she didn't seem quite as headstrong and spoiled as I once thought her. It was a welcome change.

"And what is next for you now, Kate? Do you want to find Michaels and make a life with him, or do you still love Jacques enough to . . . try something different?"

The major general had my complete attention after he mentioned 'something different.' From the look on her face, he had Kate's attention, too. "Something different? What does that mean, Emile?"

"This will only work with Mr. Maverick's co-operation. Even then it might not succeed. And truth be told, there is absolutely no reason for him to provide assistance of any kind. But if he would do me the favor of listening to my proposal and giving me his honest opinion of my plan, I would be forever in his debt. What say you, Mr. Maverick? Considering you must stay here for your own protection until your brother arrives, I would be most grateful for your assistance. I might even be able to provide a monetary incentive of some kind, should you agree to participate."

I'd been abused, injured, treated like a criminal, and almost hanged. Oh yeah, and held against my will, with no regard for my welfare or safety or even if I was being fed regularly. But Emile Armand had appealed to my better nature, and I was inclined to at least listen to his proposal. Besides, he'd said the magic words. Monetary incentive.

XXXXXXXX

It was an interesting proposition, and one that I thought just might work. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have agreed to it; the man had tried to murder me, after all. These were anything but normal circumstances, and I was willing to listen to the major general's idea. And the idea of teaching Jacques Armand a lesson in humility was appealing. As long as the major general was willing to make a concession or two concerning my physical well-being.

The plan was simple: make Jacques believe that Kate had already moved on from her attraction to Michaels and had placed her newly-freed affections with me instead. Emile seemed convinced if we could persuade his son how distasteful it was for Kate to spend her time and attention on someone other than her intended, Jacques would understand that his 'dalliances' had the same effect on her. And would choose to remain faithful to the woman he wanted to marry. Simple if it worked.

As I said before, I thought it might. It depended on two things – how convincing me and Kate could be, and how much Jacques actually loved the woman. I required a guarantee of protection before I'd agree to Armand's plan; I had no intention of ending up with a rope around my neck again. And I wanted the major general to define 'monetary incentive.' This was, after all, Kate's reputation and, more importantly, my physical well-being that we were gambling with. And I expected the payoff to be worth the risks involved.

It appeared Emile was willing to pay a high price for his son's reformation. When I asked "how much," his answer was unexpected.

"One thousand dollars," he offered.

Naturally I thought my participation was worth more than Armand did. Still, a thousand dollars was a generous amount given the circumstances. My involvement could be bought, but it would take more than one thousand dollars. "Two thousand, no negotiations. It's my neck I'm riskin', and you haven't explained how you'll keep your son from making another attempt on my life."

The major general gave me a grim smile. "Your skepticism is understandable, Mr. Maverick. You will be guarded twenty-four hours a day by one of my finest soldiers. I will personally explain to Jacques that if one hair on your head is harmed, I will have him banished and disinherited. My son is too fond of his way of life to risk losing it."

"Alright, I'm willing to listen to your plan. If you'll allow me to make . . . uh, suggestions."

The major general extended his hand. "It is a bargain, between gentlemen."

I looked at Kate before I agreed to anything. The woman was still trouble, but I was stuck here until Bret arrived, anyway. And two thousand dollars was nothing to sneeze at. "Kate? Are you willing to give it a try?"

She gave me one of her dazzling smiles, and those golden eyes shined. "I am if you are."

I took Armand's hand, and we shook. I hoped I wouldn't regret it later. "You have a deal, Major General. What exactly did you have in mind?"


	15. Kiss and Tell

Chapter 15 – Kiss and Tell

The way Emile explained it to me, a guard would still be kept outside my door at night. The soldiers were informed the major general had become convinced that I wasn't Broderick Michaels, and the guard was for my own protection. I would be allowed to come and go as I pleased during the day, as long as I didn't leave the fort. It would be easier to keep track of Jacques that way, and would guarantee that anything Kate and I did was sure to be seen by those soldiers who were friends of the jilted fiancé. Emile was counting on his son's constant awareness of Kate's wandering affections.

We began the 'affair' with breakfast. Emile ate with the men, but at a separate table. I joined him, and midway through the meal Miss Duecet appeared. I kissed her hand and held her chair, and a buzz seemed to rise from the enlisted men's tables. "See, it begins already. It would not surprise me if Jacques showed up by noon to protest his humiliation. Kate, I think you should go visit your father at the store, and by all means take the dashing Mr. Maverick with you."

"Seems right to me," I commented, and Kate did her best to look happy. We needed to talk; the expression on her face would fool no one, especially Jacques. This wouldn't work if she was anything less than utterly convincing. When the meal was finished I leaned over to her and whispered, "Let's go for a walk first."

She smiled and nodded, and we took our leave of the mess hall. I offered my arm and she accepted it, and we strolled out into the bright sunlight. When we could no longer be overheard, I began. "Do you really still love Jacques, or were you trying to please Emile with your answer?"

Kate seemed taken aback by my question. She gave it some thought before answering, and her response sounded sincere. "A little of both, I think. My feelings for Jacques still exist, but they seem dimmed by the unconscionable things he's done. And yes, I wanted to please Emile. I care for him as I do my own father. It's a shame that the son doesn't more closely resemble the father. It would be an improvement if he did."

"Would you marry Jacques if he could affect the changes to his personality and behavior that you desire?"

"Quite a profound question for a gambler, Mr. Maverick."

"That's not an answer, Miss Duecet." I did my best to look at her lovingly, and she seemed to reciprocate in kind.

"No, you're right. It's not. I . . . I don't know, Bart. It all comes down to trust, I suspect. And right now I certainly don't trust Jacques Armand."

"Do you trust his father?"

"Emile? Of course I trust Emile."

We were walking rather slowly but headed right for the General Store. "Then you believe his idea might work?"

"I wouldn't have agreed to try if I didn't believe that."

I stopped and swept her into my arms, trying to prove a point. "Then you must look as if you're enjoying this." I kissed her then; we were seen by almost everyone that was outside. It was nothing, that kiss, at first; then it seemed Kate understood what I was trying to tell her, and she threw herself into it with the same passion and fire she'd shown the first time we saw each other. And when we pulled apart she was smiling; genuinely smiling, as was I. I won't pretend it wasn't pleasurable, because it was. I looked down at the woman in my arms and thought how easy it would be to fall in love with her; and how utterly impossible it would be at the same time, given that my heart belonged to another. "That's better," I remarked, and we resumed walking.

Martin Duecet's General Store was the largest I'd ever seen at a fort. It looked like it was stocked with one or more of everything. Martin was behind the counter, tending to one of the officer's wives, but he smiled when I caught his eye. Once that transaction was done he stepped out into the store and hurried over. "Bart, I'm so happy to see you out in the daylight where you belong! Kate tells me that Emile has come to his senses and declared you to be Bart Maverick. Unofficially, of course, until your brother arrives. She also filled me in on the major generals plan. Do you think it will work? And does Kate really want it to?"

I laughed, the first time I'd done that in days, and grasped Martin's hand. "First of all – thank you for everything you did or tried to do. As to the plan . . . it could work. If Kate and I can make Jacques understand . . . and he acts like a man and not a spoiled child. And Kate . . . you have to ask your daughter, Martin. But don't expect a straight answer. I don't think she knows what she wants."

"I understand. There isn't any chance is there . . . that you and Kate . . . well, I'm sure you'd be a much better match for her than Jacques."

I hated to dash his hopes, but I didn't want him wishing for something that would never happen. "No, Martin, sorry. There's a woman in my life . . . back home in Texas. An extraordinary woman. Kate's a lovely girl . . . but not for me."

Martin sighed and smiled wistfully. "A father can always hope. But since you have been so honest with me I must believe you." He watched Kate for just a moment before asking, "Emile has given you protection? An armed guard, perhaps? Be careful, Bart. Jacques has a group of friends loyal to him, and I put nothing past them. Trust none of the soldiers, even the guards assigned to protect you."

I appreciated the warning and told him so. "Just remember, anything you see between Kate and me is all for Jacques' benefit."

Two soldiers had entered the store, and Kate was quickly by my side. We strolled back and forth and I picked up a few things to replace the personal belongings Jacques had destroyed, making sure that we were well seen by the time the boys in uniform left. Kate squeezed my hand and whispered, "I think our work here is done," and I had to agree with her.

"Anyplace else we should make an appearance?"

"Not right now. Why don't I have your horse brought over later? He can be stabled here at the fort, and at least you can have him groomed. We'll see about new tack, too."

"His saddle and bridle?"

"Jacques had it destroyed, remember? And you'll need other things, I'm sure."

I agreed with her. "Saddlebags, bedroll, fryin' pan, coffee pot. Rain slicker. That's all, right off the top of my head."

We left the store and walked back to my quarters, and we turned more than a few heads as we passed by. Kate stayed for almost an hour and I began teaching her the finer points of poker, a much more challenging game than faro. She caught on quicker than I thought she might and we decided to continue the lessons later. "You've been here long enough to stir up some gossip," I told her. "Let's not overdo it the first day."

She nodded her head, agreeing with me. Kate had been surprisingly cooperative ever since we started this charade, and I found it much easier to spend time with her. "I've got an idea. Why don't you join my father and me for supper tonight? It'd give us a chance to relax without all the staring, and everyone on the post would know you were there."

"Do you cook?" I asked, almost afraid she'd say 'yes.'

"Me? Oh heavens no. Cookies are about as far as I go. We have Teres for the cooking. She runs the household, and that makes me and father both happy. I'll come back over and get you around seven o'clock."

"Sounds good. Do you dress for dinner?" I didn't want to show up dressed inappropriately.

"For just the three of us? Goodness, no. If you have any more questions about Broderick you can ask Teres. She actually got to know him fairly well before we ran away."

I couldn't think of anything right now, but that didn't mean I wouldn't have questions by the time we ate supper. "Alright, it sounds like a good idea. You better leave now; I think we have all the tongues in the Fort wagging. Besides, I need to do some thinkin'." Not true; but I needed time to myself. Cooperative or not, I could only take so much of Kate at one time, and right now I was at full capacity.

I followed her to the door and opened it, bending to kiss her goodbye in full view of the guard. "Remember, I'll be here at seven o'clock," she told me, and took her leave. I closed the door and chuckled to myself. The soldier's eyes had been big as saucers when I kissed her. We'd gotten an excellent start.


	16. Consequences

Chapter 16 – Consequences

Kate was actually early when she came to get me for supper that night, and it gave me the opportunity to pull her into my quarters and close the door behind us. I was sure we'd created a stir in the fort by now, and this would only add fuel to the fire. If the intention was to make Jacques come to his senses about the way he'd treated the girl and what effect being careless with your attentions would have on your relationship, the sooner it happened, the better. I was hoping this would be long settled by the time my brother arrived and helped extract me from the situation.

We left for Martin Duecet's house a few minutes later, staying in my room just long enough to make it appear we were engaged in something no respectable woman would be involved in. Martin seemed pleased to see me – dinner was quite good, and I finally got to meet Teres. She was a physically imposing woman, the kind whose every word you'd want to obey, yet she seemed almost timid when we were introduced.

We were still sitting at the table, drinking coffee and eating some wonderful dessert that Teres had prepared, when the knock came at the door. Maybe I shouldn't call it a knock; it was more like pounding. Teres pulled the door open, and Jacques Armand stormed in.

He didn't waste any time, pulling me from my chair by the collar of my jacket. I didn't intend to do anything that might incite him to violence; I clearly saw a Colt stuck in the waistband of his trousers. At the same time, I'd taken the last beating from him I was gonna take. He was rational but angry, a definite improvement over the last time I'd seen him.

"What did you do to convince my father that you're not Michaels?" He shook me, just to emphasize the point. We might have been the same height, but there was no doubt in my mind that the man was someone I had no desire to get into a brawl with.

"Let me go, Armand," I hissed through clenched teeth, and to my surprise, he did.

Teres had hurried to the door, looking outside for my 'guard,' in case there was trouble. There was no one there. It appeared Martin had been absolutely correct when he'd warned me earlier in the day about Jacques' loyal friends.

"I didn't have to do anything to convince him," I declared in answer to his question. "Unlike you, the major general recognizes truth when he hears it. And so does Kate."

"You're a liar," Armand insisted. "And no matter what it takes, I'll prove who you really are."

"Go right ahead and try. But you're gonna keep gettin' the same answer – I'm Bart Maverick, born and raised in Little Bend, Texas. And in a few days my brother'll be here to prove it."

I hadn't been paying any attention to Kate or her father, but I heard the hammer on a gun click as it was pulled back. Kate's hands were empty; Martin Duecet held a Peacemaker in his, aimed straight at his daughter's ex-fiance. "You've interrupted dinner, Armand. Get out."

Jacques face registered surprise. He knew I didn't have a gun, and he hadn't expected Martin to have one, either. He stood in the Duecet house, openly defying the man that was slated to be his father-in-law, and refused to budge. "I won't leave without Kate."

She laughed at him, just threw her head back and laughed at him. "I wouldn't leave here with you if you were the last man on earth. Not when I have a fine looking, well-mannered gentleman like Bart Maverick who treats me like a lady rather than a piece of property. Get out, Jacques, before one of us is forced to shoot you."

She couldn't have humiliated him more if she'd slapped him. He glared at me one final time, spit in Martin's direction, and stomped out of the room much the way he'd entered it. Martin turned to Teres. "Go to Major General Armand's quarters and inform him that whoever was assigned to guard Mr. Maverick is one of Jacques men, and should be replaced. Go now, Teres."

"I should have expected that," were the first words out of my mouth. And I was upset that he'd taken me by surprise. It wouldn't happen again. Kate was about to say something when Martin interrupted her.

"No, you had no way to anticipate he was that much of a child. A petulant, spoiled child. He will never set foot in this house again if I have anything to say about it. Please, Kate, tell me that the man has alienated you completely. I think it would kill me if you were to marry him, after everything he has done to the innocent man standing beside you."

Poor Kate – at that moment I felt sorry for her. I could read her like one of my books – she still loved Jacques, somewhere down deep inside, and at the same time, she'd grown to hate him. "I can no longer participate in this charade we have begun, Bart, in order to open Jacques' eyes and win him back. I do not want him. But to humiliate him, to teach him a lesson that he should have learned long ago, that I am still willing to do. Will you help me do that?"

God forgive me . . . I answered her quickly. "Yes, Kate, I will."

XXXXXXXX

It was morning before I heard anything further about last night, and then it was via a message from the major general. _'Please come to my office at your earliest convenience. Signed, Emile Armand.'_

I dressed and stopped at the mess hall for coffee before heading for Armand's office. No doubt he wanted to discuss what had happened at the Duecet house the night before. He was otherwise occupied when I finally arrived, and the few minutes I had to wait gave me the opportunity to finish my coffee. When I was finally shown inside I was surprised to find a familiar face already there – Sergeant Rouzan.

"Major General. Sergeant."

"Please sit down, Mr. Maverick," Emile instructed. The sergeant remained standing. "Sounds like there was quite a ruckus at Martin's house last night. Was anyone physically injured?"

"No sir, but not for lack of trying. If Duecet hadn't had a gun . . . I shudder to think what might have happened."

"I personally apologize for the disturbance. The soldier assigned to you has been relieved of duty and is currently in the guardhouse. Obviously he is one of Jacques so-called friends. Sergeant Rouzan has been put in charge of your guard detail, and both the sergeant and I can assure you that it will not happen again. I understand that Kate . . . was quite upset."

"That's putting it mildly, sir." I wasn't gonna lie about anything. Evidently he was already aware of the evening's outcome, and I wondered who'd told him – Kate or Martin?

"Sergeant, I am making Mr. Maverick your personal responsibility. I want a reliable guard assigned to him twenty-four hours a day. And make no mistake, this man is indeed Bart Maverick and not Broderick Michaels. He is to be treated with all due respect. If I learn of anything out of the ordinary . . . the consequences will not be pretty. Understood, Sergeant?"

There was no hesitation at all in the answer. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed," Armand stated, and Sergeant Rouzan saluted and departed. The major general turned to me. "Bart, is it true? Is Kate done with Jacques for good?"

I weighed my words carefully, as I hadn't heard from Kate this morning, and the woman had been known to change her mind. "It sounded that way last night, major general. She was angry and hurt, and in the mood to try and teach your son a lesson he'd never forget. I don't know if she's thought better of it and changed her mind or not. I'm goin' to see her when we're finished. Shall I come back here afterward?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Why don't the two of you come to dinner again tonight? I'd like to gauge the lady's mood myself, and that way we won't be disturbed."

"Are you sure? Won't that cause trouble between you and your son?" Even though Jacques and me were nothing alike, my attitude couldn't help but be colored by all the years that Pappy and me spent – well, I guess estranged is as good a word as any. I still wasn't sure we saw eye to eye on everything, but there was no longer any doubt that we loved each other – fiercely. Emile seemed so fair-minded and rational, Jacques so pig-headed and thoughtless. Once again I asked myself – had a mere kiss gotten me into the middle of a familial war? And was there hope that any of us would come out of this unscathed?


	17. The Stranger

Chapter 17 – The Stranger

The day passed quietly. Kate had my horse brought over to the fort, and she went with me while I picked out a new saddle and bridle. Martin had set some other things aside that I might need, including saddlebags and a bedroll, and I took those, too. Later in the afternoon we went riding, although just around the fort grounds as agreed between me and the major general, and I tried out the new gear. It had been so long since I'd had to break in a saddle that I'd forgotten just how stiff and uncomfortable everything could be.

Before I knew it another day was done and I'd gotten ready and dressed for supper at the major general's quarters. Kate showed up once again at my door and I let her in without any of the displays we'd put on earlier. I didn't know if she felt the same way about teaching Jacques a lesson he wouldn't soon forget or not; we hadn't really talked about it earlier in the day. "How you feelin' tonight, Kate?"

"Feeling? About what, Bart?"

"About Jacques."

"The same way I did last night. He should learn what happens when you mistreat people that you're supposed to love. You're still willing to help me, aren't you? You're not gonna back out on me?"

I shook my head. "I'm not gonna back out on you, Kate. Emile wants to know if it's really over between you and his son. Jacques' heart may not be broken yet, but I think Emile's is."

"I know." She sat down and stared at the floor. "That makes me very sad, but it's no reason to marry the pig that pretends to be his son. Is that why Emile wanted us to have supper with him again? So he could find out if I was really done with Jacques?"

"It sounded that way to me." I wondered if that would make her change her mind about dining with the major general.

Once again I was surprised by Kate. When she looked up at me I thought I saw tears in her eyes, and there was sadness in her voice. "I wish . . . I wish there was another way to make Jacques understand. You can't think of one, can you?"

I know it was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn't help it. The man had threatened or tried to kill me at least twice. "A horse whip might work."

Kate looked at me with something akin to horror in her eyes. "You aren't serious, are you?"

"He's tried to kill me, Kate. Why shouldn't I be serious?"

She sighed, and I walked over to where she was sitting, offering her my arm. "Ready to go?"

"I suppose. What shall I tell Emile?"

"The truth, Kate. Just tell him the truth."

We walked to the major general's quarters. It was a lovely night; the moon wasn't yet visible but the stars were out, and my companion was as quite as I'd ever heard her. Sergeant Rouzan had an armed private following us at a reasonable distance, and when we arrived at our destination he stood watch outside.

"Come in, come in," Armand held the door open wide for us, and I handed Kate over to our host, then followed them in. The table was set much as it had been before, but this time there were four places instead of three. I wondered who the fourth guest would be, and I felt some horror of my own when the idea of Jacques dining with us crossed my mind.

Emile saw me examining the table and hurried to reassure me. "Martin will be joining us," he advised, and I let out a breath. "Did you think I . . . ? Yes, you must have. I wouldn't do that without asking first. And I don't believe it would do much good, anyway. But I wanted Martin to be here for our discussion, and he should be along any minute."

The major general was correct; within five minutes Martin Duecet had arrived. He brought a bottle of wine with him, and I have to admit that a glass sounded like just what I needed. After we drank wine and sat around the table talking about nothing in particular for a few minutes, I was once again beginning to question my own motives for getting involved. We were served dinner, a rich and spicy Jambalaya, with some kind of sweet bread and mounds of golden butter. Desert followed in the form of pralines, and I wondered how Emile and Martin managed to stay slim and trim. Of course I was sure that they didn't eat such rich food all the time; even I would gain weight on a constant creole diet.

After supper the talk turned to the interrupted meal at the Duecet house, with Armand offering profuse apologies for the behavior of his son. "Kate, I have to know directly from you . . . are you finished with Jacques? Finished with him forever, I mean?"

The girl looked at her father, and then me, and finally at Emile. "I can't lie to you, Emile. We are . . . done. I cannot marry him, under any circumstances. If that means I shall remain an old maid, so be it. Jacques does not know the meaning of love, or truth, or loyalty, and the trust between us has been forever shattered."

There was profound sadness on the major general's face for just a moment, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. "I thought that might be the case. Thank you for being honest with me, Kate. My son has lost the best woman he could ever hope to marry, and I do not blame you one bit. Martin, I am only sorry that we shall not be related, even by marriage." Armand turned in his chair and faced me. "And Bart, there is nothing in this world that I can do to repay you for the indignities you've suffered. Go to the paymaster's quarters in the morning and he will have the funds that you and I agreed upon. You are free to go at any time, but it is my understanding that your brother should be here in the next day or two, and I believe you would be safer if you waited for his arrival before you leave Fort St. Rafael."

"Major General, I see nothing to stop Jacques from making another attempt on my life. No matter what he's been told, he still doesn't believe that I'm Bart Maverick. I don't wanna spend the rest of my life lookin' over my shoulder, waitin' for your son to kill me."

"How do you propose we keep that from happening?"

Before I could give any kind of an answer, there was a knock on the door. A real knock, not what we'd heard at the Duecet house last night. The major general yelled, "Come in," and the door opened to reveal Sergeant Rouzan's heavily armed private. There was someone standing behind him, but it was too dark outside and I couldn't see who it was.

"Major General Armand, there is a man here who says it is most urgent that he speak with you."

"Just who is this man, private?"

The shadowy figure stepped forward, and even without Kate's very audible gasp, I knew exactly who it was. Sandy blonde hair, just a little longer than mine, with piercing blue eyes and dressed elegantly, entirely in what appeared to be black silk. And wearing a two gun rig with pearl handled pistols in it, the sweetest southern accent proclaimed, "I am Broderick Michaels, sir. I believe your son has been lookin' for me."


	18. Fathers and Sons

Chapter 18 – Fathers and Sons

I had no idea that Kate could move that fast. Before I had time to draw a breath she was past me and in the arms of the very real Broderick Michaels. Her father wore a stunned expression on his face but I have to hand it to the major general, he never flinched a bit. The man claiming to be Michaels stepped into the room with Kate in his arms, and the soldier closed the door behind them.

"I think that absolute proof of my being Bart Maverick just arrived, major general."

Emile nodded his head and sat down in the nearest chair. "I would have to agree with you, Bart. Martin, you concur?"

Considering that his daughter was kissing the stranger that had just entered the room, I didn't see that Martin Duecet had any other choice. In a barely audible voice I heard him choke out, "Yes. Yes, of course."

My turn, next. "Kate, can you stop long enough to make introductions?"

The newly reunited lovers ceased kissing, but Michaels kept his arm firmly around the woman. "Please do, Kate. Although I can guess who most everyone is."

"Broderick Michaels, this is my father, Martin Duecet. The man in uniform is Major General Emile Armand, Jacques' father. And this is Bart Maverick."

Kate's introduction of me wasn't quite what I thought it should be, so I provided a more extensive one. "Bart Maverick, who was assumed to be Broderick Michaels after Kate identified me as such. Bart Maverick who was beaten, kept in handcuffs, jailed and almost hanged in your stead by Jacques Armand. Who still doesn't believe that I am not you and has threatened to kill me."

Michaels whistled. "Sorry, Maverick, sounds like you've been treated much as I would have been had I been here." He looked down at Kate. "It appears you've been busy. Will you fill me in on everything later?"

"Yes, of course. Why did you come back? You were gone and safe. Who knows what Jacques will try to do now?"

Broderick spoke to Kate, and Kate only. "But you were here. I heard that you and I had been returned to the fort and I had to come rescue you. Besides, I wanted to know who was masquerading as me."

"It was a circumstance born of necessity."

Michaels looked at me and smiled. "At least you picked a handsome fellow."

"Thanks," I replied, "I think." I glanced over my shoulder at the major general. "That problem we had with your son wantin' to kill me? I believe we've solved it."

Even Emile was amused by how quickly our dilemma had changed. Now it would be Broderick that Jacques was after and not me – I hoped.

"You were convicted of sedition, Mr. Michaels, and a death sentence was imposed. What do we do about that issue?" Armand queried.

"Reverse your decision, Major General Armand. You have the authority to do that – and you know that there was no sedition committed by myself or anyone else in this fort . . . with the possible exception of your son."

Michaels was right about reversing the decision. No one had ever accused him of anything worse than making Kate Duecet fall in love with him; as the lady herself had told me, there'd been no trial, no evidence.

"He has a point, Emile," Martin finally spoke up.

"You know what that would do to Jacques," the major general replied.

"Maybe I don't have a right to point this out – since I never should have been involved in any of it – but Jacques is guilty of attempted murder. My attempted murder. If it hadn't been for you, major general, I'd have been hanged the night your son tried to carry out your order. And I'm guilty of nothing more than kissing a woman who kissed me first. Can't you arrest him long enough to give Kate and Broderick a chance to get away from Fort St. Rafael?" I hadn't meant to sound so impassioned, but at this point in time I had as much invested in the whole situation as anyone. And who could say if Jacques would ever believe that the man standing before me was the real Broderick Michaels?

"He has a point, Emile. Jacques did try to hang him, and assaulted him on more than one occasion," Kate finally spoke up. "And Bart is absolutely innocent of anything he's been accused of." She looked at me and smiled, then turned her attention back to Michaels. "There's quite a bit you don't know. I'll explain everything to you later."

"Please, sugar, if you would. I have the feelin' I owe Mr. Maverick a big debt of gratitude."

"More than that," I mumbled. And then I started to get an idea. Maybe a way to get us all out of this never-ending set of circumstances. But it would take all of us working together, and a lot depended on just how easy it might be to convince certain people of certain things. If everyone agreed to it, we had nothing to lose. And maybe a whole lot to gain.

XXXXXXXX

More than an hour later I was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace in Emile Armand's quarters, smoking one of his fine cigars. It had taken some time for me to explain my idea to everyone, and there'd been discussion and revisions to the original plan. Much as I wanted to dislike Rick Michaels, I couldn't. He listened and made valid suggestions, and seemed to actually care about Kate and what she wanted. They followed Martin back to the Duecet house when we'd finished for the night; Kate had a lot to explain, most of it about me and what I'd gone through as a result of the mistaken identity.

Emile had offered a cigar and brandy; I passed on the brandy but accepted the cigar. We'd been sitting in front of the fireplace for almost fifteen minutes. The night had gotten suddenly colder, and the warmth generated by the flames felt good.

"You've been the one who suffered most through all this," Emile pointed out needlessly. "I'm sorry for all that my foolish son has put you through. Do you really think what we're planning will have a positive effect on him?"

I blew out smoke and shook my head. "I don't know, Major General. A lot depends on him. You know him better than anyone, what do you think?"

"I think you don't remember that you're supposed to call me Emile."

"Yes, sir, Major General. Emile."

Jacques father smiled, and I realized how much I'd come to like and admire this man. He reminded me of Pappy in certain ways – they had their own moral code, and they stuck to it. They were honorable and fair, even when they didn't want to be. How had a man like this fathered a son like Jacques?

"I think that it will be very difficult, at best, but I still hope that it will be possible."

"I hope you're right, Emile. I'd hate to think we'd gone through all of this for nothing."

"Not for nothing, my young friend. At least now I know what a son who has been raised properly can turn out to be. Your father should be very proud of the man you've become; there was no reason for you to help us in this situation, yet you've done your best to do just that. I look forward to meeting your brother; it will be interesting to see if your father was successful twice."

I almost blushed. I don't think I'd ever been praised like that before, and I certainly haven't been since then. And it made twice the impact it could have, considering the man it had come from. I prayed that our plan would work, for Emile Armand's sake. He deserved a better deal than he'd gotten so far.


	19. Guard Duty

Chapter 19 – Guard Duty

As we'd agreed last night, the guard was still at the door when I left my room. Food had no appeal to me, but I did stop at the mess hall and get coffee, then hurried straight to the major general's quarters. Kate and Broderick were supposed to arrive later, and Martin would come if he could.

Emile was pleasant as always, even though we faced a difficult task. I'd barely gotten inside when there was a knock at the door, and I jumped. It turned out to be a private with a coffee pot, not the anticipated visitor.

It turned out we had more than enough time for a cup of coffee; the man we were waiting for was late. "As usual," Emile remarked, and I could hear the disappointment in his voice.

"It's not important," I offered lightly, "I've no place special to be." I hoped to cheer him up a bit, but I don't know if I succeeded. We waited almost twenty minutes before there was another knock on the door.

This time it was the man we were expecting, Jacques. He didn't see me when he first entered his father's quarters, and his greeting almost sounded pleasant. "Good morning, father. Is there a reason for my being summoned, or did you just miss me?" As he walked past his father into the room he spotted me by the table and everything changed. "What's he doing here?" he all but hissed at the major general, and his face matched the tone of his voice.

"Mr. Maverick is here because I invited him here."

Jacques laughed, an evil sound, before adding, "Don't you mean Mr. Michaels?"

"No, Jacques, he doesn't. He means Maverick, even though you're unwilling to accept it."

That evil laugh again. "That's because I know the truth."

"Do you?" I asked. "Do you really?"

"You can't fool me. I'll never believe that 'Maverick' garbage." Just as Jacques finished his pronouncement, the door swung open. His eyes lit up for just a moment as Kate walked in, but darkened again when he saw she wasn't alone. "What? Who's this?"

I stepped forward and made the introductions. "Mr. Armand, meet Mr. Michaels. The real Mr. Michaels."

Jacques staggered backward, looking for all the world like a mule had just kicked him. "Who? But you're . . ." He looked right at me, then back to Rick. "It can't be."

Emile took over. "Bart's been telling you who he was, and who he wasn't, all along, but you wouldn't believe him. You had the man thrown in a cell, handcuffed and beaten, and you would have hanged him if I hadn't intervened. All because you wouldn't believe he wasn't Broderick Michaels. Take a long, hard look, my foolish son. Because the man now standing before you with Kate is the real Broderick Michaels." Emile turned his back on Jacques as if he couldn't stand to look at him. He looked instead at me, and I gave him a smile of reassurance.

"I tried to tell you, Jacques. You wouldn't listen. You wanted to leave poor Bart with no food in that dank, cold jail cell, until you could see him hanged. What if you'd succeeded?" Kate's voice reflected no mercy, no understanding, just complete and utter disdain. I didn't know she had it in her.

Jacques stood as if frozen. Maybe he was; maybe the enormity of what he'd almost done hit him. Maybe that was too much to hope for. Some things just never change. "I don't believe it. I don't for a moment believe the man that was brought back with you is some random saddle bum named Maverick. It's more likely the one you've brought in here today is Maverick. You're just trying to save Michaels, that's all. I'm sure that's all it is."

"Your father is convinced. Why don't you ask him yourself?" Emile was standing next to me, and he'd turned back around to face Jacques. There was nothing but sadness in his eyes.

"You're part of this charade, aren't you?" the younger Armand demanded of the elder. "You're just trying to scare me, to teach me a lesson. Why, father? Why are you lying to me? What have you to gain, other than my complete humiliation?" Jacques took a menacing step towards Emile, and I moved between them. He'd caused enough pain, and I wasn't gonna let him cause his father anymore.

"Get out of the way, Michaels," Jacques demanded, and tried to push me out of his path. This time I was ready for him, and hit him with everything I could manage. He staggered back but didn't fall; he seemed rooted in the ground, much the same way Bret was when you hit him. He regained his footing and lunged for me; we went down in a rolling, brawling heap.

What I didn't see at the time but learned about later – Rick was ready to wade in and pull Jacques off me; Emile stopped him. The major general was giving me a chance to extract retribution. And I set about to do just that. I threw a right hand, then a left; both found their mark. Jacques landed a punch that felt like it shattered my jaw, but it didn't stop me. I swung again and caught him just right this time, and he hit the floor. I scrambled away from him, but when he regained his feet his left hand held a knife – not a Bowie knife, but formidable nonetheless. From the way he handled it, I understood why he didn't need to wear a gun belt.

He swiped at me and caught me across the belly, ripping my shirt and drawing blood. He switched the knife to his right hand and lunged for my throat, but his foot caught on a chair and he sprawled face first on the ground. The knife clattered out of his hand and went skittering across the floor, and I landed one well-placed foot to his groin. By the time he quit moaning I'd drawn my Colt and aimed at his chest. "That's enough, Armand. Get up and move away from your father."

I'd turned slightly as I held the gun on him and Kate saw the blood; she didn't shriek but rushed forward and tore a piece off her petticoat to stop the bleeding. Sometime during the fight Martin had arrived and entered the room . . . he went running out now, only disappearing for a few minutes. And when he returned, he brought Doctor Roche with him.

I looked up as Martin and the doc entered and saw that Rick had his guns out and aimed at Jacques, who was still on the floor. The doctor started to bend down to tend to Armand but Emile said something I didn't understand and he changed direction and came to me instead, pushing me gently into a chair and removing Kate's bloodied petticoats from her hands. "Sit down here, Mr. Maverick. Let's see what all this blood is about."

In less than ten minutes Roche had me on his exam table in the infirmary and was cleaning the long, bloody wound Jacques' knife had made. Kate had come with us and insisted on holding my hand. "Where's Rick?" I asked her.

"Probably at the guardhouse with my father and Emile. He's the one that told me to come with you and make sure you were going to be alright."

"And Jacques?"

"Emile had him taken to the guardhouse."

Doctor Roche interrupted. "Miss Duecet, I need you to leave. I've got to stitch this man up and it won't be pretty."

"I was raised here in the fort, doctor. I've seen worse stitched closed."

"Alright. Mr. Maverick, this is going to hurt. I have whiskey if you want it." He was already reaching for the bottle.

"No, Doc. I hate the taste of the stuff. I'll probably pass out on ya, anyway." I usually did during stitches.

"I'm ready if you are. Hang onto his hand, Miss Duecet." Kate did as she was told and I did as I had promised. When I woke up Kate was no longer there, but Emile was.

"Bart, I'm sorry. I had no idea that Jacques carried that weapon. He's in the guardhouse, where he'll stay until I decide what to charge him with. Doctor Roche says he gave you seven stitches, but they weren't deep. Your jaw isn't broken, but it's going to be plenty sore for a while. Now, I want you to answer a question for me."

"Sure." Doctor Roche was right, the jaw ached somethin' fierce.

"Why did you step between us? Did you really think he was going to hurt me?"

"Yes."

The major general was quiet for a minute. "Perhaps you're right. I've never seen him like that."

"Kate?" I asked, trying to use as few words as possible.

"She and Michaels are at her father's house. Doctor Roche wants to keep you here tonight, and we'll make arrangements to have you moved to your quarters tomorrow. I got a telegram from your brother; he'll be here in three days. I sent one back to let him know there was no longer any need for him to rush and that you were alright, relatively speaking."

I tried to stay awake, I really tried. But I finally gave in and closed my eyes, and the next time I woke it was almost dawn, and I was alone. That didn't last long . . . within a few minutes Doc Roche was there, offering a glass of water and asking how I felt.

"Like hell," I told him, and waited to see what else he wanted to know. Nothing, as it turned out, but he did have information for me.

"There'll be soldiers with a stretcher here in a while – they're going to take you back to your quarters. Major General Armand has arranged for a woman to stay with you for a few days, at least until your brother arrives. If you need anything she'll be there to help. Do you have any questions?"

"No," I managed to get out. "Goin' . . . back to sleep."

"Good," Doc remarked, "That's the best thing for you."

The next time I woke up I was back in what had become my quarters, and there was a rather imposing looking woman sitting next to my bed. Teres. I smiled, knowing that I was probably safe from anyone or anything with her at my side.


	20. Welcome Arrival

Chapter 20 – Welcome Arrival

Two days later I was sitting up in bed. My jaw was still sore but I could eat solid food; and the pain in my belly where Jacques' knife had cut me hurt considerably less than it had at first.

Teres had spent the majority of each day in my room, making my recovery considerably easier. I certainly didn't lack for visitors. Martin Duecet, his daughter Kate, Sergeant Rouzan, and even Corporal Nicolas were there. One morning Magdalena appeared.

Emile Armand spent considerable time with me, though I believe it was as much for his benefit as mine. The man was sad, lonely, and unimaginably regretful for all the pain and suffering his son had caused. We spent long hours talking, Emile and me, about everything from my life growing up to his command of Fort St. Rafael. I tried my best to convince him that none of this was his fault, but as time passed it became apparent he blamed himself more than he should have.

Sometime in the afternoon of the third day, a new visitor appeared at the door. I was mildly surprised; we knew each other but hadn't actually met, other than briefly. Broderick Michaels had spent his entire childhood in Jackson, Mississippi; he was more southern and I was more Texan, but we seemed to have a lot in common, including our love for gambling and beautiful women. His feelings for Kate seemed genuine, and he certainly treated her with more respect and affection than Jacques Armand had.

"Kate told me the story of how you two met," he explained as he took a seat next to my bed. "Considering the way she 'introduced' herself to you, I certainly can't blame you for the way you responded."

"We'd have all been better off if I hadn't," I admitted.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps things might have played out in a more sinister manner."

"Jacques trying to hang me was sinister enough."

He chuckled slightly, but quickly regained his serious countenance. "I meant for Kate and me." I must have worn a puzzled expression because he hurried to explain. "If we hadn't split up and the corporal had found us together, Jacques would have had me hanged by this time. You saved my life, in a manner of speaking."

"Almost at the expense of my own."

"I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay." The man seemed most sincere. I had been prepared to dislike Rick Michaels, but I didn't. And the differences he made in Kate – she was calmer, steadier, more grown-up. It was evident that she'd made the right choice in a man, at last.

"Just keep that girl happy and away from her ex-fiancé, would ya? And make sure she stops kissin' strange men."

That got a full blown laugh from both of us. "Sounds like a good idea. I think the best way to do that is to marry her. If she'll have me, that is."

I was surprised but not shocked. "Good luck. I hope it all works out for the two of you. Have you thought about what that'll do to things around here? Might be kind of hard with Jacques around."

"We're only gonna be here part of the time. The rest of the time we'll travel, kinda like you do, I guess. And Jacques won't be a problem."

"Why is that?" I couldn't help asking.

"Hasn't his father told you? Jacques has been charged with attempted murder, among other things."

"He was charged with . . . ? Of me?"

Rick nodded. "Along with assault, kidnapping, and false imprisonment."

"Emile . . . hasn't said a word to me." I didn't know what else to say. Armand had been here regularly, and we hadn't discussed Jacques at all. It couldn't have been easy, either to file charges like that against his own son, or to keep from telling me about them. "What about the sedition conviction against you?"

"Dismissed. The original charges, too. I have you to thank for that. You've made my life quite a bit easier, and all you've got to show for it is a long string of abuses."

"Still got my neck, with no stretch marks."

Rick got up from his seat and offered his hand. I took it, and was happy to do so. "Take care, Bart. If there's ever anything I can do . . . you can always reach me here."

"Thanks, Rick. Good luck."

"You too."

Doctor Roche came by later that day and gave me the okay to get out of bed. He was pleased with the way my wounds were healing but wanted to make sure that I didn't do anything too strenuous yet. Since walking was on the list of things that had been approved, I sent a note to the major general's quarters asking if he was available for dinner that evening. I had a response within the hour, inviting me to supper in his room at eight o'clock. I accepted; I had a lot of things to discuss with him.

XXXXXXXX

It took me longer than I'd expected to get to Emile's quarters; I was a few minutes late in arriving and my host had a worried look on his face when he opened the door. "I was afraid getting here would be too much for you," he explained as he ushered me inside.

"No, I'm just a little slower than I expected to be. Sorry for bein' late."

There was already wine on the table and I was pleased to see only two places set. I had the feeling this would be our last meal together, and I was glad we'd have no interruptions.

"Can I offer you some wine?"

"I think that's a fine idea, Emile," I answered as I took my place at the table. The major general poured, and I was pleased with his selection. It was a light red wine that tasted of strawberries.

"To your improved health," Armand proposed, and I countered with a toast of my own.

"To your peace and happiness."

I really had been late, because we'd barely gotten to sip our wine when a private entered with food. Thick, juicy chops with a sweet glaze, garnished with all manner of potatoes and vegetables. My waistline couldn't afford to spend much more time at the fort or I'd begin to look like Bret. I wondered out loud if Emile had heard anything further from my brother.

"Nothing," was his reply.

"I really thought he'd be here by now. Maybe he took your instructions to heart – not to hurry, that is."

"Be glad, it's given you a chance to heal."

He was right; whatever had delayed Bret actually worked out to my advantage. But my brother wasn't what I'd come to discuss with the Fort Commandant. "Emile . . . about Jacques."

"You don't need to concern yourself with my son, Bart. He'll never bother you or anyone else again."

"Rick Michaels came by today. He told me about the charges you've filed against Jacques. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I . . . I was ashamed. To admit that my own flesh and blood had become nothing more than a brute, a common criminal, full of rage and hatred . . . to admit that out loud . . . the thought was humiliating. Especially to a man such as yourself; someone that is fine and upstanding, that I have come to respect and admire. Someone that is everything Jacques Armand is not."

I almost choked. It was humbling, to hear words of praise from a man of the major general's character – and inappropriate, at the same time. "Emile, you have the wrong idea about me. I'm a gambler, a drifter, a man of ambiguous moral fiber on my best days. I've lied, I've cheated, I've run out and left innocent people holdin' the bag for things I've done. There's not a fine, upstandin' bone in my body. And I'm the biggest coward you'll ever meet. There was nothin' noble or brave in anything I did – it was pure survival instinct."

Emile was smiling by the time I finished, a smile I'd seen before. One that clearly meant, _'I hear everything you say and I believe none of it.'_ I'd told him the truth, but there was nothing I could do to make him believe it. "All the charges against Jacques . . . what could happen to him?"

There was silence for more than a minute while Emile wrestled with the question of being forthcoming. "He could be sentenced to hang."

Now, I have to be honest. If there were no Emile Armand involved I would have been happy to see Jacques Armand hang. Matter of fact, I'd have been willing to slip the noose around his neck. But the major general did indeed exist; what's more, Jacques was still his son. "You can't do that, Emile."

"Bart, he tried to hang you. It was only through a fluke that he didn't succeed."

"He's your son."

"He's a spoiled brat, a criminal."

"He's still your son."

"And a potential murderer."

"But not an actual murderer."

"I can't turn him loose. He must be punished for what he did; for what he intended to do."

"You can't hang him, Emile. What if you dropped the attempted murder charge?"

"If he were found guilty of the other charges . . . he would receive five years in prison."

Five years in prison . . . for trying to kill me. Frankly, I preferred the hanging. I didn't think five years in prison would do anything to change Jacques Armand. But my main concern here was not Jacques, it was Emile. I'd do what I had to so that this man's heart wouldn't be broken any further.

"Then drop the murder charge."

"But I . . ."

"Please, Emile. Drop the murder charge."

We sat there silently for a long time while the major general considered my request. Finally he looked up at me with a grim expression on his face. "Alright. But you must give a detailed statement to the court before you leave here. Agreed?"

"Agreed." For just a second I saw the look on Emile Armand's face – it was gratitude and relief. Then the major general in him took over, and the look was replaced with a stern expression. I was about to say something else when there was a knock on the door.

Armand glanced at me as he got up to answer it. "I forgot to send for coffee. Perhaps this is a perceptive private with ambition bringing it anyway?"

As the door swung open, it quickly became evident we would not be so lucky. Not unless my very tall, very welcome brother had unexpectedly enlisted in the French Creole Army of Fort St. Rafael.


	21. Brothers

Chapter 21 – Brothers

"Major General Armand?"

Emile smiled. There was no mistaking the man standing at his door. "Mr. Maverick? Please come in."

I struggled to my feet – getting up and down was still difficult, and after a meal my belly was tender. "Bret!" I'm not sure I've ever been so happy to see Big Brother as I was right then.

"My God, son, who's mad at you this time?" Bret had reached me in three long strides and held my poor bruised chin in his fingers as he examined me. "What else is hurt that I can't see?"

"He was knifed in the stomach. The doctor just let him out of bed today."

Bret turned loose of my chin and removed his hat. "I guess a bear hug's a bad idea. At least we can shake hands." We did, and Bret turned back towards Emile. "Major general, I'm the other Maverick. The one that Mr. Giggles sent for, although I've no idea why. What've I missed?" Bret had seen the red marks on my wrists; the wounds from the handcuffs I'd worn for so long were finally healing.

Armand offered his hand to Bret and they shook, just as a private appeared at the door with two cups and a coffee pot. "Another cup, please, private."

The soldier set everything on the table and hurried back out the door, and I poured coffee for Bret and Emile. Bret watched me and commented, "You've domesticated him, I see. It's about time somebody did."

Emile laughed and accepted his cup, then sat down at the table. "Please, Mr. Maverick, have a seat."

Bret's expression turned serious. "How are you, Bart? Really, I mean. What's this all about? I wasn't sure what I was gonna find when I got here."

"You almost didn't find him at all. One of our citizens insisted that Bart was a man named Broderick Michaels, who'd been sentenced to be hanged, and tried to execute the judgment on your brother."

"Determined to go to the gallows, ain't ya?"

I shook my head. "This one was even worse. The noose was around my neck when the major general stopped the lynching." Just then the private came running back in with a third cup, and I poured it full for myself.

"And just who was this citizen, and where is he now?"

Emile wouldn't notice the change in Bret's voice, but I did. He'd asked his question in that _'tell me so I can kill him'_ tone that he reserved for special occasions; usually when I was in trouble or had been injured. The major general hesitated, and I answered the question. "He's in the guardhouse, awaiting trial."

"And who is he?"

"My son, Mr. Maverick, for which I am profoundly sorry."

Bret set his empty coffee cup down on the table. He looked at Emile, then at me, then back to the major general. Very quietly he insisted, "Somebody tell me the whole story."

I began the tale, and Emile filled in wherever he could. When I got to the almost executed lynching I saw Bret grip the table so hard that his knuckles turned white. Good thing I'd already convinced Emile to drop the attempted murder charges against Jacques – Bret would never have agreed to it.

By the time my brother had been brought up-to-date, I was exhausted. Being out of bed for so long and the amount of walking I'd done were enough to tire me out. Bret got that 'time to go' look on his face and I knew what was coming. "You need to be in bed, son," he stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Armand had caught the 'son' that Bret used for the second time, and he questioned it. Most people let it pass, but the major general was too curious for that. "Son?"

Bret explained as he helped me get to my feet. "It's our little joke. I practically raised him after our momma died. He calls me 'Pappy' and I call him 'son.'"

"When do you intend to leave the fort?" Emile asked.

"Not just yet," Bret answered. "Looks like he needs some more rest before we go."

"I do," I agreed.

"I'll have breakfast sent over in the morning. What time would you like it?"

"Nine o'clock?"

"Done. I'll be over to see how you are both doing after that." The major general turned to Bret as we made our way to the door. "Take good care of him. He's been through a lot."

I chuckled as my brother answered. "I will, major general. I've got lots of practice in brother-sitting."

Once we'd gotten back to the quarters I was staying in Bret helped me get undressed and into bed. A cot had been brought into the room, and my brother's eyes lit up. No sleeping on the floor or in a chair for him this night! I was struck again by how different Emile and Jacques were. The father was kind, considerate, and well-aware of other people's needs. The son was none of those.

"You have this done?" Bret asked, pointing to the cot that was complete with blankets and a pillow, an almost unheard of luxury at a fort.

I shook my head. "Emile must have."

"Seems to think a lot of you."

"The feeling's mutual."

"And Jacques is his son, huh? What went wrong there?"

"Doc Roche said it was his mother's fault. She wanted to make sure her boy never joined the military."

"Sounds like she succeeded. Anything you didn't wanna tell me back at Armand's quarters?"

"Nope, you heard it all. Well . . . almost all. Emile had Jacques charged with attempted murder . . . it carried the death penalty, if found guilty."

A small chuckle escaped Bret. "Sounds like a real good idea to me. What happened?"

"I convinced him to drop the charges."

Bret gave me one of his _'now what did you do that for'_ looks. "You had a reason, I assume."

"I did. You met the reason tonight. Emile's tried to do everything right, once he figured out Jacques' did everything wrong. And . . ." Bret waited, knowing that eventually I'd finish my thought. "I couldn't . . . I couldn't let him hang his own son. He reminds me of Pappy – and you know what it did to Pappy in Montana. I couldn't put Emile through that," and a few seconds later . . . "much as I would have liked to see Jacques hanged."

"You're too soft-hearted sometimes."

"It's a family trait, Brother Bret."

He watched me and sighed. "Yeah, maybe there should be more bastard in us. Might save us some trouble in the end."

I nodded right before I closed my eyes. "It might, at that."


	22. The Lesson

Chapter 22 – The Lesson

To show you just how worn out I was, I was still asleep when breakfast arrived. I didn't hear the knock on the door but I heard the clatter when the soldier brought it in, much as he tried to be quiet. I yawned and stared at Bret. "Nine o'clock already?"

"Yeah, it is. How you feelin' this mornin'?"

"Better than I did last night. I guess I did too much too fast."

"Just like you always do."

"Alright, I won't argue with that. What's for breakfast?"

Bret helped me sit up in bed and then handed me a plate. "Bacon, eggs, biscuits and coffee. That enough for ya?"

"Too much. Take about half of this," and I gave the plate right back to him.

"No problem."

Once done with breakfast, my brother helped me get cleaned up and shaved and into clean clothes. I rested while he did the same for himself; I wasn't sleepy, but the knife wound had taken more out of me than I thought. Just as he finished there was a knock on the door, and Bret went to answer it. He stood there with his mouth open for a good minute before he finally stumbled over his words. "Uh . . . hello. Can I . . . can I help you?"

"Are you Brother Bret?" Martin Duecet asked.

"Come in Martin, and bring Kate with you," I shouted.

"How did you know I was here with father?" She was laughing as she asked the question, and my brother was retreating to let her in. Not only was Kate a beautiful woman, she was a force of nature, and God help the man that got in her way.

I didn't respond, just chuckled while I watched Bret scramble backward. Kate swept in, Martin trailing behind her, and sat down on the nearest chair. I finally figured I better make introductions. "Brother Bret, this is the lovely lady that kissed me and started this whole farce, Kate Duecet, and her put-upon father, Martin. Anything to tell me this mornin', Kate?"

She smiled like she had a secret. "Rick told you, didn't he?"

"He did. Was your answer yes?"

"It was." I looked up and Martin was smiling, too. Bret had a confused look on his face. I took pity on him and decided to end his suffering.

"Rick Michaels asked Kate to marry him. She accepted his proposal."

"The man that . . .?"

"I was supposed to be? The same."

"He's real and he's here at the fort?"

Kate answered that one. "Oh, he's very real. He came to visit Bart yesterday and divulged his intentions to ask me for my hand in marriage. What he didn't tell you, Bart – he asked father first."

I raised an eyebrow. "He did? You must have said yes rather quickly, Martin."

"As fast as I could get the word out of my mouth. I was overjoyed that Kate was through with Armand, and that Broderick wanted to marry her. Of course, my choice for a husband had already made it clear he wasn't looking for a wife." Martin looked right at me, and I did my best to play dumb.

Bret chuckled. "Yeah, I bet he did."

"When's the wedding, Kate?" I wasn't gonna give my brother a chance to say anything else, at least not now.

"We haven't decided yet. How much longer are you two gonna be here?"

Turnabout is fair play, I guess, and Bret didn't allow me any time to respond. "However long it takes for him to get well enough to travel."

"In other words, a few days?"

"Looks like it." For once I was being honest. I was in no shape to get on a horse and ride away from Fort St. Rafael, at least not yet.

"I might be able to pull something together before you leave. I'd be awful happy to have you there when Broderick and I become husband and wife. Considering it's all your fault."

"My fault? Whoever gave you that idea?"

The door to the room was still wide open, so there was no knock to let us know someone else had arrived. "That would be me," another voice answered, as Rick Michaels walked in. I don't get to see my brother surprised by much in this life, but the look on his face said it all.

"Matt! Matt Terry!"

"Brad Grayson!"

As I pointed out once before, Bret and I have been known to use names we weren't born with. Evidently Bret and Rick had met under more . . . uh, questionable circumstances. It only took a minute or two to straighten everything out.

"You're Broderick Michaels?" Bret asked skeptically.

Rick started laughing. "That I am, Mr. Grayson. And you, of course, are Bret Maverick."

I looked from one to the other, waiting for an explanation. "We were in Hattiesburg," Bret started, "playin' faro, when we both figured out the dealer was crooked. By the time it was all over, the dealer was dead, two of his accomplices were wounded, the marshal'd been shot in the foot, and we were both in jail."

"But we were alive," Rick added.

"True. Thanks to you, that is," Bret answered.

"So this is your brother?" Rick asked. "He's the reason I'm still here, and it almost got him killed."

"Guess that cleans the slate, huh?"

"That it does, Mr. Maverick. That it does."

Sometime later Bret told me that Rick had shot the faro dealer when he tried to gun my brother. Seems we'd all come full circle.

"Back to the date of that wedding," I reminded everyone.

"How about Saturday?" Kate asked.

"We can stay until then," Bret replied. "It'll give Brother Bart a chance to get his strength back."

"Uh . . . how hard will that be for the major general? Bein' asked to perform the wedding, I mean?" Emile was my primary concern; after all, Kate was supposed to marry his son once upon a time.

"We'll go ask him," Kate was on her feet and halfway out the door, pulling Rick and her father behind her. I tried to keep from laughing because it still hurt to laugh, but I couldn't help it. I'd never believe everything that had happened since we first met, no matter how many times I went over it in my head.

"You all right with that, Bart?"

"As long as Emile says yes, I'm fine with it."

XXXXXXXX

If Emile had a problem marrying Kate Duecet and Broderick Michaels, he never let on to anyone. By Saturday night I'd given my sworn statement to the court about Jacques' escapades, the wedding went off without a hitch, and me and Bret had decided to leave the fort Sunday morning. I made one last stop at Emile's quarters; I wanted to say a proper good-bye. We had a glass of wine and I thanked him for everything he'd done for me; for the first time in a long while I was sorry to be leaving behind a friend.

Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny, and we were up and on our way not long after sunrise. I wanted to go before everybody was awake; I'd spent more than enough time in Fort St. Rafael.

As Bret and I rode on and the Fort receded in the distance, I heard my brother chuckling to himself. He kept it up for quite a while, until I couldn't stand it any longer. "What do you find so dang amusing?" I finally asked him.

"You," was his quick reply.

"What about me?"

"How you manage to get yourself into such situations. I hope you've learned your lesson."

"Which lesson would that be, Brother Bret?"

"Not to kiss strange women just because they kiss you."

I thought it over for a minute or more before I finally answered him. "I doubt it, Pappy. I truly doubt it."

The End


End file.
